Forgotten Lakes
by Tastytime
Summary: Alexander is swept with a new range of sensations, and he turns to Hephaestion for help in dealing with them, only to realize that Hephaestion is precariously innocent. AXH. Chapter 10 now up. Finished!
1. Chapter 1

_**Title: Forgotten Lakes**_

_**Chapter 1?**_

_**Fandom: Alexander (Historical. Not bloody movie.)**_

_**Rating: PG-13 for slash (implied in this chapter)**_

_**Pairing: Alexander/ Hephaestion**_

_**Summary: Alexander newly baffled by the onset of a new emotion, attempts to tame it.**_

Aristotle's voice was a steady drone in the background, as predictable as the buzzing of flies around a rotting piece of meat. Alexander hid a yawn behind one hand. Aristotle was lecturing on Plato again, and quoting from his Republic, a subject which had always bored him immensely. The day was hot, dry and dusty, and the air choked him. Despite the thin white tunics, he and his fellow companions wore; sweat trickled down him, mixing with the dry sand on his leg, to form what looked like an esoteric scrawl of writing in some forgotten language. Discreetly he shifted himself to a more comfortable position on the ground. He looked up at his teacher, risking sweat drenched hair falling in his eyes. Aristotle's eyes were far away, and Alexander wondered if his teacher's mind was not here either listening to his weary enunciations of Plato's philosophy, but rather roaming his native homeland of Greece, and thinking of those whom he had once known.

He snatched a glance sidewards at his friend Hephaestion who was idly drawing with his forefinger in the dust. He looked as though he was concentrating utterly on his teachers voice, but Alexander knew from long experience that Hephaestion could _look _as though he was only thinking about what you were saying, when in fact he would be half asleep.

Alexander looked down at the ground again, and Hephaestion's hand briefly nudged him. A word was written in the sand. _Bored? _When he was sure Alexander had seen it, he erased it with a tiny casual movement of his wrist. Carefully Alexander sketched his answer. _Yes._

Hephaestion gave a tiny smile and put his hand up. Aristotle was startled from his almost somnolent state. With a tiny grunt he signalled Hephaestion's right to speak. "I was wondering if we could have the afternoon off master?" he said boldly. Alexander stared at his friend almost awe-struck. He'd actually asked Aristotle for time off, and had not been struck by lightening, as the philosopher had almost convinced them they would be, if they dared to interrupt.

"Why?"

Hephaestion knew this game though, and knew that if he came up with an original excuse, they would be granted the time off. Aristotle would probably be as glad of the break as they would. "Well master, Plato's Republic is of such significance that in order for it's full worth to sink in, we must let our minds be at rest." Both Aristotle and himself knew that it was an utter fallacy, but the oldish man's tired mouth lifted in a small smile.

"Very well Hephaestion. Your request is granted. But if you do not learn well and speedily on the morrow on account of your request, your hide must pay."

Hephaestion stood and bowed to the tutor, and kicking Alexander surreptiously with his foot sauntered from the arena. The other boys disbelieving of such luck, were slower to follow, until Aristotle gave a little cough, and made as though to continue talking. Then like a herd of sheep, they followed their errant companions footsteps out.

Alexander was the first to catch up with his friend. At fourteen Hephaestion was a year younger, and a year's worth shorter than Alexander, but despite their differences, or even because of them, they were the closest to each other in their select group, and as such were often referred to as AlexanderandHephaestion rather than as separate entities. "How did you dare do that?"

"I was really bored, and I could even feel my skin starting to burn. Beside Master Aristotle seems not to hate me." Alexander sighed ruefully. Hephaestion despite his bouts of inattention, and characteristic blank eyes was one of Aristotle's favourite pupils.

"Shall we go to the woods?" Hephaestion shrugged his shoulders, and acquiescently followed his older friend into the darkness and coolness of the grove of trees. He followed swiftly as Alexander led them to the small lake that hid in the centre of the wood. Ringed by trees and strange flowers, it was shady and quiet, the other boys not having yet followed them. Hephaestion quickly removed his clothing, and swam straight into it with a cool sigh of relief, while Alexander followed more sedately. For a few minutes they didn't speak, but then Hephaestion playfully scattered a rainfall of drops over Alexander's head, and in retaliation Alexander ducked him beneath the water, tickling him until Hephaestion screeched with laughter. When they surfaced, Hephaestion still spluttering and chuckling, Alexander was aware that something had changed. Looking at Hephaestion's eyes he still saw the bright, innocent gleam of friendship and camaraderie, and he shook himself crossly. Nothing had changed at all. He shivered suddenly, as though a sudden vista had opened up for him in the few seconds he'd been underwater. Something eluded him inexplicably, and it was as though the day though still warm and clinging, had suddenly turned cold.

At that moment three other boys hurtled into the lake with varying degrees of loudness, and he was left with no time to ponder on this strange emptiness, as he was drawn into the other boys business and slowly the day became warm again.

Later that day, Hephaestion had been called to Aristotle's study, and the other boys had been summoned home, Alexander's feet drove him to wander to his mother's door. Inside she reclined on a couch heaped high with golden tasselled cushions, draped with one of her favourite snakes as though it was a work of art- a magnificent piece of jewellery rather than a reptile. Try as he might, Alexander had never been able to cultivate quite the same liking for the sinuous creatures, and they in turn though not hostile would not allow him to touch them.

His mother was half in a doze, singing softly to the snake some lullaby of her homeland. Alexander hung back a moment observing her. She was beautiful indeed- slender, to the eye still young, though Alexander knew how many hours her maid spent to achieve the affect. Her hair was black as night, a thick pall of silk that draped tanned shoulders revealed beneath gossamers of gauze. He coughed gently making his presence known to her, and her eyes flickered lazily to him. She lay in a pool of sunlight, as though she too was a snake basking in the sun. He knelt beside her as always, and she gently finger combed his hair, the only outward sign of affection that she allowed herself, apart from the occasional fierce embrace. "You've been swimming," she remarked quietly. He nodded, knowing she could feel the movement.

"Oh Alexander," she sighed." What am I to do with you? With only a half mad mother dazzled by Zeus's visions, and a drunken sot of a foster father, how will you survive?"

He shook his head. "You are not mad mother," he remarked with certain intensity.

She smiled softly and sadly. "You need love Alexander. I love you with a mother's intensity and hopes of greatness, and even that man who claims to be your father loves you in his strange awkward way, but you need more." She resumed her vacant stroking of his head. "Do you not love any girl Alexander?" she asked, and with a hint of her old playfulness she shook a finger at him. "It is good for a young man, to have a lady to cherish."

"I am only fifteen mothers. And besides when I love I want it to be forever, never to die, not as a passing fancy."

"We all believe that my child. Time will teach you differently however. Time will teach you wisdom, and you will learn to take comfort from where it is offered, without troubling about love."

Alexander shook his head uncomphrendingly. "I swear to the Gods mother that when I love it will be forever. I cannot imagine anything else. I could not want anything else."

His mother did not reply for a moment, her eyes farseeing and distant. Finally she murmured. "A dangerous oath to swear my son. But I shall pray for you that you find your love." With surprising speed, she worked free one of her rings from her fingers. It was a thumb ring, large enough to fit on a man's forefinger, indeed too large for Alexander's hand at the moment. "And when you find whoever it is, give them this as a token of your love, and as a reminder of the oath you swore." She closed her eyes and turned away, Alexander's cue to leave. He walked slowly away, and once in his own chamber he put the ring carefully away in his hidden cache of things precious to him.

In the next few weeks Alexander's eyes were newly opened to the intrigues in and around the palace, as though his first wonderings on love had brought them freshly to his sight. From his drunken father, and his dalliances with the young servants, to the strictly decorous farmers and their courting and loving of one woman for years before marrying her. And as though a veil had been newly torn from his eyes, he saw for the first time the love matches amongst his own peers, the shyly clasped hands, the whispered words of love beneath still green trees, the inconstancies, and minor heartbreaks, and with a start he realised that he had never seen it before, that it must have been happening all around him while oblivious he had played as a child, and seen the world as a child. He had always _known _of course;- he'd have had to have been simple like Arrihidaeus in order to have not known about sex and what role it played in the adult world, but he'd never applied it to himself, and now for the first time he properly saw, what had always been there.

He'd turned to Hephaestion, anxious to see if he saw it too, but Hephaestion was as oblivious to their companions exploits, as Alexander had been but a few short weeks ago. He trained with weapons, read his lessons and played with the same wholehearted ferocity as always. Alexander for the first time saw the offers directed towards he himself, the subtle glances of eye, and face, and understood the meaning of the joking of the Athenian delegation who he had entertained long before this awakening had come, and gradually he began to leave Hephaestion's side. Hephaestion was only a child, he told himself. Only a child, and he couldn't understand the burning quicksilver that ran through Alexander's body. Alexander dallied a little with others his own age, going no further than simple kisses, not _knowing _how to go further, though his body seemed to wish to teach him. And so the long hot days of summer passed, and Alexander and Hephaestion drew further apart, Hephaestion not understanding what so suddenly pre-occupied Alexander's thoughts. The cooler days came, autumn blew its chillier winds, and the matches made in summer, disintegrated, and reformed with others, as though the hot fever of summer quickened love could not survive in the cold.

Alexander came once more to his mother's door. She lay on the same couch, and indeed the only thing different was her dress- now a deep rich hue of red, that fired her eyes, and contrasted with her hair, and the positioning of her couch,- nearer a fire. Languidly she smiled. "Have you found your someone, my darling?"

Alexander shook his head. "No mother. I cannot explain it. I have searched the whole summer through, and am no closer to finding them. And yet sometimes it is as though they have been in the same room but moments before, or brushed past me as light as a breeze in the corridor, as though I keep looking in the wrong place at exactly the wrong time."

Olympia tilted her arm back, catching the cold with the fire's light. "My dear Alexander, perhaps you seek too far," she murmured cryptically. And then changing the subject apparently. "It is Hephaestion's birthday tomorrow. I do hope you remembered."

Alexander's face coloured slightly. He _had _forgotten to tell the truth. Indeed he had hardly seen Hephaestion in the last two weeks. He lied through his teeth. "Of course I did remember."

His mother smiled showing a hint of teeth. "Then you will have got him something appropriate. It is his fifteenth after all."

Alexander's brain buzzed helplessly, and he finally gave up the charade. "Truth to tell mother, it slipped my mind. I've been so busy lately." He looked at his mother pleadingly and she sighed.

"Sometimes Alexander it is as though you are six not almost sixteen." Pointing to a wooden chest she commanded him to pull it out. "I knew you would forget so I took the liberty of choosing something for you. Look in the corner for something wrapped in blue silk." Alexander found it and unwrapped it. It was a handwritten copy of the Iliad, no doubt hideously expensive, and Alexander looked up amazed. He didn't even have his own copy himself, though months ago he had stolen Aristotle's and hidden it alongside other sundry precious possessions, comforting himself with the knowledge that the man probably never read it, and certainly never devoured it like Alexander.

"Do you _know_ Hephaestion?"

"He brings me flowers sometimes, when they come into bloom, as a courtesy."

Alexander shook his head still amazed, and wrapping it carefully back up, he carried it back to his room. As with all the other boys, Hephaestion's fifteenth was an important marker, and as such there was a party to commemorate it, though no-one seemed to notice that the cause, had absented himself early in the evening, and unaware that he was being followed by Alexander had made his way to the lake, sitting with his back against the biggest tree of all. He was still, only occasionally shifting, indeed he appeared almost asleep after a few minutes. Alexander sat down beside him softly, and nudged him. "Wake up," he whispered.

"'m not 'sleep," was the almost petulant reply, but Hephaestion sat upright anyway, seemingly surprised that Alexander was there. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a tone, that smacked almost of annoyance, and Alexander stared at him in astonishment. He'd never heard Hephaestion sound like that before, and it threw him off guard.

"Well actually I wanted to give you your birthday present," was his reply, perhaps a little snappier than usual.

There was silence then, "no thank you."

Alexander was truly worried now. This was not like Hephaestion at all, this almost sullen boy, was nothing like his friend and companion of the last few years. "What is wrong?" he asked trying to moderate his voice.

Hephaestion practically snarled. "Everything! You can't just decide you hate me for almost two months, and then just suddenly ask what's wrong, and expect everything to be normal again. I don't understand you or anyone else suddenly. It's like you're all speaking a separate language that you don't want to tell me the code of, and I'm sick of it, _Prince _Alexander." He almost spat the last two syllables. Standing up, he made as though to leave, but Alexander caught at his wrist.

"What do you mean?" he shouted.

"You wouldn't even speak to me for almost two months. Every time I tried to do something with you, you'd find some inane excuse, or you'd just ignore me as though I was a child, incapable of understanding what you could understand. Ever since that day when I asked Aristotle for the afternoon off, you've been different, and I can't explain _why_." There was a world of frustration and misery in his voice, the sound of a child trying desperately to understand something what everyone else seemed to grasp so easily, he sounded like Craterus when faced with a geometry problem, and it sent a pang of pain through Alexander's heart. He wished he could explain it to his friend, could _show _him, but he knew this was something that Hephaestion would have to discover for himself.

So shrugging disdainfully, he let go of Hephaestion's wrist. "If that's the way you wish it Hephaestion, then keep playing your childish games. Nobody's hiding anything from you, maybe you are just not clever enough to see it." Hephaestion's eyes flared brightly, hurt shining from them.

"As you wish Prince Alexander. I shall not bother you again." He spoke in a monotone, and his eyes dulled, losing all their fire. Alexander's brain was screaming _miscalculation! _at him, and he was kicking himself, for letting things reach this awful stage, when Hephaestion turned and ran from him as though Alexander was Cerberus, and Hephaestion had lost his harp.

Important notes (Well to me)

I know Hephaestion and Alexander seem rather slow at working out the whole attraction/ puberty thing, considering that they are fifteen, but lets just assume that they know all about the physical side, but that they are rather naive with everything else.

Well that's a relief to have the first part of this actually typed and up, since it's been in the draft stages for an embarrassingly long amount of time. Actual impetus for writing, was desire to use Moon71's slipstream XD though alas it doesn't touch hers. If you haven't read her stuff, then what the hell are you doing with this story!

My copy of Plutarch went walkies without me, and though I'd rather rely on that than Robin Lane Fox, it'll have to do. If I got anything wrong, I'll be eternally grateful if you point it out. Nothing worse than fanfiction with absurdities


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Forgotten Lakes

**Chapter:** 2?

**Fandom**: Alexander (Historical. _Not _bloody movie.)

**Rating**: PG-13 for slash (implied in this chapter)

**Pairing**: Alexander/ Hephaestion

**Summary**: Alexander newly baffled by the onset of a new emotion, attempts to tame it.

Thanks to Sushoo, CoralDawn, Songnatsha, Arlad, angstman, Becky Greenleaf, purple lolly, Lysis, Fredericka, your reviews were very highly appreicated. Especial thanks to Moon71 for putting up with such an undoubted newbie

Alexander stared silently at his friend's bowed head. Hephaestion was huddled in a blanket, reading something Alexander could not see. If he knew that Alexander was there, he was doing a good job of hiding it, but Alexander doubted that he did know, for Hephaestion when engrossed in something had always ignored everything around him, to the extent that it had earned him beatings for inattention. The night was cold enough to warrant the blanket, and perhaps in other times Alexander would have crawled in with Hephaestion, winding his arms around him so they shared body heat and comfort, and they would have conned the lesson together. He reminded himself sternly that those times were _gone. _They belonged to childhood, to those things which he had left behind. He stole away as silently as he had come, and scurried back to his room, passing the sentries posted by the end of the hall without their noticing, fleet as a small animal.

He closed the door silently behind him, hoping he had awoken no-one, and made his way to the bed, falling onto it with a small sigh. Though the night was almost gone, he was not tired, indeed he seemed full of a nervous energy which neither dissipiated, nor had a visible cause. It had been a week now since he had quarrelled with Hephaestion. A week since they had flung bitter words. He had hoped, almost beyond reason that Hephaestion would have silently made it up with him for some unknown idea of kindness. But he knew it was a false hope, a vain one that would do no good in the long run. For Hephaestion while always appearing to be the softer, more pliable one, had a core of hard iron, a coldness that prevented him from being intimate with anyone apart from Alexander. Alexander had known this- but not understood it. He got along with most people- not Cassander perhaps, but then who _did_? So Hephaestion's alien brand of self sufficency was foreign to him, something he had always supposed came from his Greek blood. The blood which made him look somehow different from every other boy in the palace. He bore a passing resemblance to Alexander some said, more in expression than features. He took after neither his father nor his mother, but had somehow managed to merge their best features, without looking like either. His father's gravity and stern demeanour, reflected in strong features- a firm jaw, high cheekbones, was tempered by a softer curve of cheek, lips more inclined to smile than to pout, from his mother, and he had her hair, thick lustrous black locks, that tangled like a horse's mane. His eyes were what set him apart. Wide set and cold grey, they were usually calmly blank, with little of the power which Alexander's eyes could invoke, and yet if he looked at you full on with those eyes, you found your tongue stumble over a lie or a false flattery, and even an honest man's words could trail to nothing. They seemed almost to strip your soul, and find it unworthy. Then as though bored, he would look away, and the man thus freed, would wonder why he had been so afraid to meet them. He face was pale, but his arms and legs tanned from constant exposure to the outside.

So he knew that Hephaestion would not even think of coming to Alexander to renew their friendship. It would not even occur to him, and for some reason that Alexander could not pinpoint, that drove him to the brink of madness that he, the future King meant so little, to the only person who had never begged to be his friend. While Hephaestion had been there, everything had seemed brighter somehow for Alexander knew that Hephaestion did not think of possible rewards from being so close to someone so powerful. Hephaestion was beside him, because of Alexander, and he had never missed that more, beside the flattery of Philotas, and the good humoured friendship of the other boys. He could not recall what temporary madness it had been that had made him say such things to his best friend. Alexander had his own pride though, and he would not crawl to Hephaestion and apologise. He resigned himself to loneliness.

His thoughts were disturbed by a gentle knock at the door, then his mother swept in. As always he thought admiringly to himself that she was every inch a queen. Her hair spilled down her back untamed aside from a comb thrust through to secure it, and when she smiled the warmth of the sun seemed to stem from it. He hesitated to ask why she was in his rooms so late, and she volunteered no answer merely sitting on his bed. She had not sought him out thus in years, indeed she rarely saw him at all, only when he judged it expedient to go to her rooms and ask her advice. She was his mother, adn she was his goddess, the link between him and divinity. They talked of things for some time, and then by chance she asked of Hephaestion's reaction to his gift. With pent up emotion, Alexander told his story, hoping she knew a remedy to his problem. She obviously did not, but her eyes became thoughtful and speculative, and she excused herself soon.

Alexander could not know of the argument that Olympias had with his father that night. She had started without preamble. "I am worried about Alexander,"

"By the Gods is it ever anything else that you think of?"

"And you should be too," was her angry reply. "This unhealthy fascination with his friend. I know for a fact that he has not yet bedded a woman, but that he flirts with boys his own age, and some say indeed with older men. You may be willing to let your son grow up without knowing the duties of the marriage bed, duties you never disdained to fill yourself," she added with thick contempt in her voice, "but I am not. He is becoming melancholy over one friend, a boy of little standing in the court I believe, and he needs something to distract him,"

"Amytor is a good man," argued Philip, "and his son bids fair to make a good man also. Besides it hurts no boy to have flirtations, and even perhaps if it would be wiser if he had chosen someone older at least he is not ignorant of the flesh."

Olympias drew breath to protest. "I too like Hephaestion, but I dislike this state of affairs. As a friend he is well and good, but he cannot be what you, I and the kingdom need Alexander's love to be..." she began, but before she could say more she was interrupted.

"Enough woman! Your voice cuts through my head like a knife. You shall have what you ask for. Callixena has travelled from Thessaly, and I'm sure even you will have heard of her fame. Give her instructions. If she can't coax the boy out, then no-one can." Olympias made her courtesy with frigid dignity and left, having sent a messenger to where Callixena was meant to be lodging.

The next morning, Callixena stood before Olympias. She was twenty five, but artful magics of hair and make up, made her look sixteen. Her body was straight and firm inside the gown of wool she currently wore, and she looked like nothing so much as a prosperous farmer's daughter. Olympias strolled round her, inspecting, knowing that tonight she would be a different woman. Finally she pronounced her judgement. "You will do well enough. Once you have fulfilled your duty, return and you shall be paid. You have three days."

Callixena was nothing if not a woman of the world, and this was not the first time her services had been called upon, with shy boys. She took care to adorn herself in white that night, until she looked like nothing so much as a shy virgin herself, and then as instructed by Olympias, she stood within the grove of trees. She knew the pretty picture she made, sitting beneath the branches, armed with a copy of the Iliad. She could not read the writing, but everyone knew the stories, and Olympias had told her of Alexander's fondness for the works of Homer. Sure enough footsteps soon sounded, and Philip's heir peered down at her.

Alexander could not deny he was fascinated by the girl under the tree, though some instinct warned him against her. She was like nothing he had ever seen before. Everything was exotic and new. Midnight hair, over bronze skin, her eyes as dark as a Nubian's, lips shaped like Eros's bow. Her eyes were cast down, and she was reading. Without meaning to his eyes followed the pendant she wore, to where it rested between her breasts, doubtless exposed by accident. She wore a dress of some white material, that had settled around her like a moth's wings, and turning he moved away, un-nerved. She smiled, a secret twitching of her lips, having felt his eyes on her body. What an ill mannered boy. Alexander hurried back, wondering who on earth the girl could be.

Over the next two days, he caught glimpses of her as though by accident,- once he heard her singing in the garden, but on no occasion did she approach him, nor volunteer her name. He could feel hismelf being entranced, and when on the third night she stood outside his room and prettily asked him if he would like to hear a song, he had not refused. This time she was adorned in a red dress that caught the tint of copper in her skin. He had moved towards her, like a rabbit compelled by a snake, at once entranced and repulsed. Then his expression had changed and hardened, just when she thought she had him. "I wish you to leave my room. When I choose a bedmate, _I _shall choose one, and they will not be paid." He had ignored her until she left to report her failure to Queen Olympias, who merely paid part of her fee and dismissed her, binding her to silence. Callixena had not even needed the binding. In her business you did not discuss customers past or present, their performance or lack of it.

Alexander stared at the ceiling, and rested his head on his hands. He was bone tired to the depths of his being. For one moment seeing that girl beneath the tree, he had thought that he had found something different, something that would distract him from the disaster of the last week. But she had been like all the others, a creature of artifice. Oh artful woman, and for one moment he had believed in the illusion of beauty and purity that the girl in white had symbolized for him. Then when she had been closer, he had seen the sensuous flesh of her body, her practiced movements, the scent that to him symbolized experience of the wiorld, the tiny lines around her eyes, and te expression- which doubtless she had thought hidden, of practiced boredom. No she had neither been innocent, nor tempting. Indeed the ripe richness had turned his stomach. He remembered the ring Olympias had given him, and scrambling down he lifted it from his cache and stared at it again. He had grown since she had given it to him, it now almost fit on his hand. He weighed the heavy gold in his hand, the pure glistening richness that seemed to catch and hold the light. He stared at it, and then bowed his head.

His heart was heavy, and he certainly did not want Philotas's company. He was not overly fond of the other youth at the best of times, and when his soul cried out for the quiet companionship of Hephaestion, who could go for hours without speaking, he did not want to have to listen to the verboseness he knew would characterise Philotas's conversation. But he did not decline the mixed wine, the other boy bore with him, and for a time he took comfort in the endless stream of gossip and chatter that the other boy seemed to have at his command always. His mind was drifting away from Philotas's list of conquests when he heard something that made him first go pale, then red. "Cleitus is trying to bed Hephaestion. Poor boy, he hasn't a chance. Hephaestion is just ignoring him, and Cleitus has his heart set upon him. What do you think Alexander?"

Philotas's pale blue eyes were fixed on him intently as though he _knew _something that Alexander didn't, and he licked his lips in an instinctive animal movement of nervousness. But Alexander noticed none of this filled as he was by the heat of pure fury, that he neither understood nor wanted to analyze. He did not listen to whatever else Philotas said, engrossed as he was in his thoughts. He excused his feeling as concern for Hephaestion. Hephaestion was too young, and Cleitus was not nearly good enough for him. Any true friend would feel the same way, and he _was _still Hephaestion's friend whatever the younger boy might think.

His sleep was uneasy that night, and the next morning he woke with a headache that seemed to split his skull into two. He rolled over groaning, as daggers seemed to pierce his skull. He wasn't used to drinking even mixed wine in such quantities as last night. Even the knock at the door seemed to jar and crash, and his eyelids semed gummed to his head. The maid was looking at him cautiously and carrying a steaming handle-less cup in her hands, which she set down beside his head, and then backed away carefully as though he would pounce upon her. He sniffed and almot retched, so bitter was the scent. On the reasoning that something that smelled (and undoubtably tasted) so bad, must be good for you he drained it back, and indeed in minutes his headache lessened, and he felt strangely happy, as though his problems had vanished. He didn't attribute the strange emotions to his drink, but merely got up and dressed fast.

He was filled with undoubted energy, despite the early hour of the morning, and with swift pace he strode to the practice courts, taking one of the swords which hung from the walls, and beginning his practice exercises. A sixth sense made him turn, and he felt his eyebrows raise in utter surprise. Hephaestion was up and practicing as well, before the heat of the day struck. It struck Alexander as unusual, because one of Hephaestion's faults was his overly judicious conservation of energy that came out as a certain laziness in terms of getting out of bed in the morning. Alexander's eyes glittered, and the drink within him, said it would be a good idea to hone his skills agains the other boy. He strolled up, and with one casual swing alerted the other as to his presence. Hephaestion to his credit did not hesitate, though Alexander was easily the best at the sword in their clique, and Hephaestion due to aforementioned laziness hadn't practiced lately. They fought for a few minutes, the only sound being the clash of unsharpened swords. The point came though, when Hephaestion got a lucky blow, and hit Alexander with the sword hard, accidentally aggravating a bruise Alexander already had on his arms. The flame of pain drove Alexander close to madness, and the force and strength behind his blows increased twicefold, the savagery forcing Hephaestion to give ground until Alexander's sword collided with his face with a force so hard that it sent the smaller younger boy sprawling backwards onto the floor, hand clutching his face where a bruise was already forming, livid against the pale skin. Alexander stoof there paralyzed for a moment then dashed forward in remorse. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to.." his words trailed off as Hephaestion, sat up and glared at him, his eyes showing nothing moire than the purest hatred.

"Stay _away _from me Alexander," he hissed.

Alexander's face hardened from the momentary softness. "Then don't presume to play men's pastimes," he said coolly, though inside he seethed. "You might get hurt. Stick with children's games as becomes you. Like I said you're obviously too young and stupid for anything else." He walked off, before Hephaestion could say anything further, determined to keep the moral advantage of the last word on the subject.


	3. Chapter 3

Third Chapter

_**Title: Forgotten Lakes**_

_**Chapter 3?**_

_**Fandom: Alexander (Historical. Not bloody movie.)**_

_**Rating: PG-13 for slash (implied in this chapter)**_

_**Pairing: Alexander/ Hephaestion**_

_**Summary: Alexander newly baffled by the onset of a new emotion, attempts to tame it.**_

A/N: Thanks for your reviews: Elithraniel, Arlad, Becky Greenleaf, A Horse Called Hwin, CoralDawn, Noiri, Fredericka, purple lolly, jil and DomesticTo-oTChild. Please keep reading :)

There was a smouldering tension in the air, which Aristotle sensed the moment he walked in. It was obvious in the groupings of his students, and in the rather subdued chattering. His quick sharp eyes glanced around, and noted the positions of his usually most inseparable students. Alexander, usually gregarious and lively was seated with Philotas who was doing his level best to restrain his smirk. Alexander's face by contrast was brooding and sullen, with an unbecoming level of viciousness, that sat ill on his fair features. Hephaestion was sitting as far from him as it was possible to be, and his eyes were glimmering with what seemed to be seething and repressed anger. His face was bruised quite badly, and was quite obviously sore to the touch and movement. His usually calm features looked positively murderous, and he sat absolutely isolated from the other boys. Aristotle sighed within himself. Boys in these years were such petty creatures, falling out over minor causes, things of no import to anybody looking on. Occasionally there was indeed a quarrel of such magnitude that he deemed it politic to intervene before a genuine blood feud could develop, but most of the time it was a falling out over a lover or some trivial matter.

He had always liked Amyntor's son for a number of reasons. Their shared Greek heritage played a firm role, as did Hephaestion's truer and purer rendering of that said tongue, which to be honest gave some respite to ears tired of the Macedonian mangling of that language. Another reason was the boy's quick wits. His was neither the most distinguished, nor the most brilliant mind that Aristotle had ever met, nor indeed even in the clique of boys whom he taught, though he took well to almost all forms of learning, particularly mathematics, and yet there was a quickness to it that Aristotle enjoyed testing, in different ways, particularly in their verbal exchanges. So he had paid more attention- almost unnoticeably to the dark haired youth than most others, and was worried now to see him so isolated, knowing full well the eventual fate of one so shut out from the prince's favour. Alexander had not the makings of a forgiving man.

Aristotle continued teaching on the constitutions of different states, while his mind played with different ideas one after the other, until it returned to the problem of Alexander and Hephaestion. As he mouthed the definitions, he pondered on what could possibly have driven them apart. He could not deduce what form their quarrel had taken from their attitudes, since Alexander's pose seemed that of a jilted lover, almost a petulant purposeful ignoring of the other, in favour of sultry looks from under long lashes at anyone who caught his eyes, As Aristotle moved on to Sparta, he concluded that Hephaestion's attitude was entirely different. Far from seeming to pretend to provoke jealousy with coy looks and flirtations, he wore a scowl that Zeus would have been proud of, and seemed more interested in studying the ground for non existent insects than either paying attention to the lesson or looking at Alexander.

Aristotle pondered on whether to postpone the trip to the deeper part of the woods that he had devised both to test his students gathering and botany skills, and reward them for hard work, but with an inward shrug decided to let it continue. He was not about to disrupt his teaching process for what was more than likely a simple argument over a stolen kiss or something ludicrous of the sort. He kept a sharp eye on them though for the rest of the lesson, not trusting them not to start a fight, the instant his back was turned. The trek was only to be a small one. They would camp in the woods as far out as one day's walk would take them, and for two days live off whatever they could hunt or find in the woods. Olympias had protested on hearing that he would not accompany the party, citing dangers that Aristotle was sure he could not defend the party from whether he walked with them or not, until finally he had agreed to send two of the guard as well- Cleitus and Herodotus. However as Olympias seldom gave up, so it was that he found himself accompanying the group as well as the guards, and silently bemoaning the walk it would entail.

Alexander glanced towards Philotas who was rolling his blanket, and then away again. Hephaestion was preparing alone, quickly and without so much as a look towards Alexander, and he could feel his lip curling back from something that felt not unlike anger. He was the _prince _no-one had the right to make him feel as though he was in the wrong, especially not when the odds were that he was. He ignored the rather choppy logic of that statement and concentrated on building up his annoyance and frustration, knowing it would serve well when the time came for the hunt. The day was warm, and it was determined that since their studies had only taken up an hour of the early morning, that they would do as well as to start now, and make as much progress as was possible in the time that was left.

The day was warm, almost too warm, but in the shade of the trees, they were almost all cool and refreshed with the usual exceptions lagging behind and complaining. Aristotle merely directed at them a look of ice, that had them scurrying to catch up. As they walked, Aristotle lectured on the plants, and small animals that they passed, often stopping to demonstrate or display the flora and fauna to which he attributed particular properties, in particular those dealing with the healing of wounds. These little breaks were as much an opportunity to catch his breath as they were to teach pupils most of whom blatantly showed their disinterest. He decided to test who had been listening to his little soliloquy, and pointed to the plant with the soft green, almost feathery leaves. "When crushed and boiled, it infuses to make a drink that will cure headaches," he announced. Three heads turned to look at him in puzzlement. Only forty minutes ago he had recommended the same plant as a purge suitable for the cleansing of poisons. The rest merely nodded, then turned back to private discussions. Aristotle stumped along shaking his head. He might not be as fit as he had once been, and he had certainly never been built for long treks, but this was tiring him out even faster than he had foreseen and the pig-ignorance of most of his pupils was simply distressing to him. He fell in place beside Hephaestion, noticing in amusement how Cleitus for the last hour had been attempting and failing to take that spot, but been defeated by the surge and press of others.

Hephaestion turned and looked at him. "Master," he said drily, merely an acknowledgement not a concession.

"Hephaestion," was the reply, and Aristotle nodded. "So will you be needing a headache infusion from that plant tonight?"

"Hopefully not, unless it is true that my brains are not located in my head at all," was Hephaestion's dead-pan answer, absolutely straight faced. Then, suddenly serious he looked at Aristotle. "If I may, I would ask you advice on something." He waited for Aristotle's nod of assent before continuing. "What do you do when you realize you have completely misjudged someone, and that you don't know them at all?"

Aristotle hesitated before answering a question that was by no means simple. "First you make sure that they have not changed, that it is indeed your misjudgement that is at fault. If you are correct, and simply did not know the person then I would advise you to take a long, hard look at them and re-order your perceptions, make sure there is nothing clouding the logical conclusions you gather from their manner. If however they have changed from what they once were, then again look at them in the same way, but this time do not change the way you look at them, simply what you are looking at. Compare new to old, and then decide whether it is worth the effort to get to know them as well as you once did."

Hephaestion was silent, and then he said very softly. "I thought I knew him almost better than anyone, and he was the only person with whom I felt comfortable being myself. And then one morning I woke up, and it was like a different Alexander was in the same body." It had been silently acknowledged some time back, that it was indeed Alexander of whom they were speaking. "Some times I see what he used to be like, just flashes of him, but most of the time he just," he let off a helpless shrug. "is so different," he finished.

Very gently Aristotle replied. "Sometimes that is part of growing up Hephaestion. People change, and their needs change. It must be your decision whether you are willing to change in the same direction." With any other boy he would have told them that the most logical thing to do would be to stay with the boy who would have power in the future, but he would not be having this conversation with any other boy.

"I know I have to grow up. And I don't mind, I truly don't, I can fight as well as most others, I'll soon be fully grown after all, and going to war etc. But I don't know if I want to," was the subdued reply.

"You may be given no choice," said Aristotle throwing a cryptic glance at Cleitus, which went straight over Hephaestion's head."

"Thank you anyway Master Aristotle," Hephaestion said politely, essaying a bow. Aristotle fell away from his side, back to the head of the group, where he commenced lecturing on the habits of deer. Cleitus took the opportunity of inserting himself into the recently vacated place, and matching his slightly longer stride to Hephaestion's, where he proceeded to amiably comment on the peculiarities of the wood around them. Cleitus had often travelled in this part of the wood, and he had a store of amusing stories that while not enough to break Hephaestion's dark mood, at least lightened it, and occasionally made him laugh. Alexander saw all this happen, and his eyes glittered with enough feeling that had thoughts been translated into actions, would have meant that Cleitus would be missing a kidney, a lung and a sizable chunk of his body. He paid no attention in the least to the almost ceaseless chattering of Philotas who having been handed this priceless opportunity to monopolize the future king's company without the frustration of Hephaestion listening with those coolly assessing, clever grey eyes, that for some reason made Philotas stumble over every word he uttered, was determined to make the most of it he possibly could, not deterred by the fact that Alexander's attention was so firmly fixed on the two people in front of him.

They stopped at midday for a short break, using the food they had brought with them, and water from a nearby stream, then it was up again and at a slightly faster pace in order to reach the site Cleitus knew about to use as their resting place that night. It was a place that had all the makings of a good campsite, and took only moments for Aristotle to organize people into groups. Cleitus and the other guard were dispatched along with Alexander and Nearchus to find food either from the bounty of the forest, or by capturing some wild animal for dinner. The others were put in charge of gathering firewood and starting the fire, and Hephaestion was sent to find water. He returned with news of a small stream, and bearing some water back in a cook pot. This was promptly put on the fire to boil, and Epigurus who was clever with his hands, had constructed a makeshift spit out of branches in the anticipation of meat. Some little while later the hunting party returned, bearing a young deer, and some greenery which they brought to Aristotle to sort into harmful and edible. Aristotle looked incredulously at the deadly fungi which littered the pile, and turned a stern look at Alexander. Any thought of reprimanding the wayward prince however left his mind as he perceived Alexander's dark scowl, and knew that Alexander's mind had not been on the hunting of deer, or the collecting of food. Cleitus swiftly gutted the deer, and divided the meat into cookable portions which were then spitted over fire with each boy taking a turn to turn it. Cleitus was left dirtied with the blood, and smiling he yelled at Hephaestion, asking him where the stream was. Hephaestion smiled back, and offered to show him.

Aristotle eyeing the barely contained prince, and having deduced exactly what the problem was here, decided to intervene, and called Hephaestion over to rig up the complication of ropes and cloth that made up what he called his hammock, and suspend it between two trees. He saw more than one boy exchange amused glances at what they termed the oddness of their master. He gave a sour little smile. They wouldn't be laughing in the morning when they compared insect bites. In a moment of spitefulness he wished that an adder would just wipe the lot out. Rubbing his eyes as he sat on a tree stump, he pondered on his old master Plato. Plato would have loved Alexander, he thought sadly. Alexander was idealistic enough that he would have strived to reach the idea of the philosopher king, and stubborn enough that he would not have stopped until he had achieved it. He was also by turns the most infuriating and most exciting pupil Aristotle had ever taught. The thought that quite possibly the future of this corner of the world, and perhaps more of the world than any man had ever ruled before, might rest on how well he educated this one boy, this spoilt, petulant boy who had flashes of brilliance that stroke Aristotle dumb, was a sobering one. As far as Aristotle was concerned, anything that kept Alexander grounded was important.

All this time the deer was roasting, sending its scents all across the clearing. The edible roots they'd discovered, also roasted in the bottom of the fire. Naturally the first bit of meat was given to Aristotle, the next pieces to the hunting group who had trapped it, and after that it was first come, first served. Most of the group were in excellent spirits. Aristotle might be there, but this was nothing like a regular school night, and was an opportunity for fun that seldom came around. Even Hephaestion was smiling, albeit a little sourly, and Alexander had apparently made up his mind to ignore what he couldn't change, and was chatting to Nearchus with every appearance of enthusiasm. Two boys wrestled to the cheering encouragement of all, with Philotas the clear winner, bounding up grinning to receive the makeshift wreath fashioned from leaves. There was a generous round of applause from all present, and soon it was proposed that there be another match. Being of disparate ages and sizes, it was often hard to match people up fairly, though some were so good that they could be matched against almost anyone. In the interest of fair play however, Cassander proposed Alexander and Hephaestion. He did this with an ugly glint in his eye. Alexander might be taller and stronger, but Hephaestion was easily the better fighter. Just as Alexander outmatched him with a sword, he could thrash Alexander at hand to hand combat most of the time, and everyone in the group knew this. It didn't matter how old they were, they'd all lost to Hephaestion at some point. They also knew very well that when Alexander was in this sort of mood, he could not bear to be beaten, and that Hephaestion would rather spear himself than lose on purpose. Cassander was setting this up to be a bitter fight, one designed to drive the two even further apart. Not for any personal profit of his own, but because he thoroughly disliked both competitors, and was stupid enough- some said honest enough to let it show.

Most people looked at Aristotle uncertainly, perhaps hoping he would step in and put an end to this nonsense. To all intents and purposes however he appeared to be asleep. He was keenly watching the match though from beneath lowered lids, interested to see the outcome of this fight. Alexander's superior weight and strength, combined with his obstinacy, against Hephaestion's swiftness, and absolute determination to win. Aristotle knew the motto of Hephaestion's father- A fight is not over until you win it, and he had no doubt that this had been passed on to his son. Cassander pressed on, and with a haughty toss of the head stepped forward. Hephaestion looked at him for a long moment, then slowly turned his back on Alexander, in order to say something to the boy beside him. Aristotle admired Alexander's control at that moment, more than he had ever admired anything in his life before, not knowing what it cost the boy to refrain from slapping Hephaestion, as indeed he deserved. Despite Hephaestion being Aristotle's unacknowledged favourite, he knew the boy was in the wrong entirely. The ultimate rudeness was in turning away- lesser men had been killed on the spot for less than that. Alexander's face was set with rage, his features stiff with offence. "You must fight, or be given the title coward."

Hephaestion looked straight at him. "That title is not yours, or any man's to bestow upon another. But I shall fight." He stood with a lazy arrogance, and Aristotle wondered in that moment just when Hephaestion had changed from the eager to please, cheerful boy, into this cold faced person. No need to ask what had precipitated the change. Both discarded their belt knives, and took up the beginning stance. Where before there had been cheerful shouts and whistles, now there was utter and deadly silence. Alexander as always made the first move, lunging at Hephaestion, grabbing him into a hold, only to be repulsed easily. It was sharp and tense, and both competitors were sweating in minutes. They appeared as always to be evenly matched to an extent, but there was such virulence in each attack, that all watching knew that any other fighter pitched against one of them, would have been defeated long ago. The sweat was making it harder to hold and grasp, and finally in a move of such speed that almost no-one even saw it happen, Hephaestion had Alexander pinned to the floor, and in another move almost as quick, Alexander had reversed their positions. They broke apart, and both stood, glaring viciously at each other. Nearchus, ever the peacemaker declared a draw, and both retreated to their respective positions, chests heaving and trying to catch breath. Hephaestion soon left for the river to clean himself off, being as fastidious as most others. Only Alexander's quick eyes saw Cleitus slip away as well, and more fury welled in his chest. He exhilarated in the feeling. He had won, he told himself. He had shown Hephaestion who was more powerful, and now he would assert that claim.

He walked quietly to the river, pausing when he heard the sounds of the two in front of him. He leaned with his back against a tree to listen to the conversation.

"Hello Cleitus," came Hephaestion's carefully calmed voice. Alexander knew that Hephaestion was struggling against the rage and viciousness inside him, not used to feeling so strongly about anything.

"Hello Hephaestion. Bathing?"

"No. I'll wait a bit I think. Until I'm in a calmer mood at least, or I might try to fight Xanthus just for some relief," was Hephaestion's half humorous reply.

Cleitus laughed. "Even Achilles barely managed that with help from his divine mother, how would you manage? Unless there's been something you haven't told us, like a few Gods as ancestors."

"Unfortunately no. I'll guess I'll just have to pray for enough time to build a dam."

There was a chuckle from the darkness, and Alexander strained his ears to hear more, and was rewarded by Cleitus lowering his voice, and asking "Hephaestion can I speak to you about something?"

"Of course," was the swift reply.

Alexander slid round the tree in order to see more, confident that the darkness would hide him until he had seen what he wanted to. Cleitus was standing near Hephaestion, whose stance was interested and relaxed, if you discounted the leftover tension from the fight. With only a short hesitation, Cleitus pressed his lips to Hephaestion's mouth, allowing his arm to steal around his waist to pull him closer. Alexander watched as a red mist rose in front of his eyes, and he prepared to race forward, and, and, he didn't know what, but rational thought had been destroyed by the destroying, the killing rage that had risen up in front of him. He was about to dash in, when a strong hand restrained him, and Epigurus shook him gently. "Let the little slut do what he wants Alexander. If he wants to spread his legs for Cleitus that is his shame, not yours." Alexander's eyes were blinded, but his mind was clear in that one moment, and he hit Epigurus as hard as he possibly could, feeling teeth crunch, and flesh tear. He turned back to where Cleitus and Hephaestion stood, bemused by what he saw.

Hephaestion had shrugged himself loose of Cleitus, and was standing there, his arms clutched around himself. "What in Hades did you do that for?" he hissed.

Cleitus slumped forward. "I -I like you Hephaestion. I thought you liked me as well, but that little assumption has been cleared up I see."

"I thought you were my friend Cleitus," was Hephaestion's next remark. "I thought you didn't want anything, and especially not that from me. You're exactly like the lot of them, all of them. Just..." he seemed to lose the words, and simply spat on the ground. Such a gesture from Hephaestion was unusual, and silence seemed to fill the clearing. Cleitus merely bowed his head, and allowed Hephaestion to speak. "Yet another person I don't understand I see." His voice was full of defeat and an unbearable sadness, and in that moment all the anger drained out of Alexander, and he simply wanted to comfort the younger boy, to look after him. Even his rage at Cleitus for daring to touch Hephaestion against his wishes had dampened down. A part of his mind refused to acknowledge, that the reason for that, was precisely because Cleitus had been repulsed. It took all the self control learnt in his life, to restrain himself from dashing out to enfold Hephaestion. At that moment came a moan from his feet. Epigurus was coming to. Alexander roughly covered his mouth, and half dragged, half carried him out of earshot of the other two, then knelt in front of him.

"So much as speak or even think about what happened here tonight, and I will have you and your family executed," he hissed viciously. "So much as breathe a word of scandal concerning either Hephaestion or myself, and your life will be forfeit. Do you understand?"

The other boy nodded, half dazed, and in terrible pain from the broken nose. But he understood what was Alexander was saying, and that was all that was necessary. Alexander gave him a hand back to the camp, where he told a convoluted story about Epigurus running full tilt into a hanging branch. If Aristotle doubted it, he did not breathe a word to the contrary, despite the evidence, that that was certainly not what had happened.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: Forgotten Lakes

**Chapter:** 4/?

**Fandom**: Alexander (Historical. _Not _bloody movie.)

**Rating**: PG-13 for slash (implied in this chapter)

**Pairing**: Alexander/ Hephaestion

**Summary**: Alexander newly baffled by the onset of a new emotion, attempts to tame it.

**A/N:** I know Alexander's birthday is supposed to have been in late July, but please bear with me having changed that to some extent, in order to make his age fit with my timeline, especially since at least one source backs up my idea as to his birth-date. Thanks!

Thank you to: CoralDawn, Moon71, Baliansword, Sushoo, Yolass, SongNatasha, Arlad, Lysis, DomesticTo-ToChild, A Horse called Hwin. The reviews were very much appreciated!

The mood in the camp the next morning was more subdued than the day before- Epigurus's little whimpers of pain did nothing to inspire the company to good spirits, and the tense atmosphere instilled in the camp by Hephaestion's growing isolation was certainly putting everyone on edge. Cleitus far from being the cheerful man he had been the day before, was quiet. He kept trying to catch Hephaestion's eye and failing miserably. Alexander on the other hand was far more cheerful than he had been for days. As the sun rose though the trees though, the mood lightened, until it was almost the same relaxed atmosphere as the day before. As camping went, this was a breeze. All of them were aware of exactly what it would be like in real battles- the cold, the damp, possible lack of food, nothing like this at all. But as a holiday from everyday work, this was excellent.

Aristotle had divided them into groups again, and decided to rotate the learning opportunities. Those who had hunted last night, were set to gathering wood, water and learning from Aristotle, while the others scattered to find prey. It had taken Aristotle some considerable thought as to the composition of the troops. Epigurus was in no state to hunt, so Aristotle settled him in the hammock, and began instructing the others in herb lore. The day passed fast- meat was brought back, and roasted. Aristotle could barely contain his laughter, as he noticed several of the boys scratching hard at raised bites, and glance at Aristotle's hammock with rueful expressions. The day was quiet, and at the height of the heat, most were taking siestas, when Alexander decided to approach Hephaestion for the first time in peace, and to say the words that were going to choke his throat. An apology. It took time enough, to even persuade Hephaestion to follow him away from the others, so they could not be heard.

Once away from the earshot of the others, Hephaestion perched himself on the stump of a tree, and looked coldly at Alexander. "Yes?" he asked.

Alexander looked at the boy young man in front of him, looked properly at the grey eyes that hid so much more than they revealed, at the slim form that seemed almost hunched with misery, and the hands held loose and clasped in front of him. Looked at him, and felt a wave of utterly indefinable emotion pass through him. Something he could neither quantify nor name, only that it made him want to hug the younger boy close, and never let him go. Instead he sat cross legged on the ground, and tilting his head up he looked up at Hephaestion solemnly. "I'm sorry," he said finally. There. The world hadn't frozen over, and the sun was still shining. He had managed to say the words. The words came easier now. "I'm sorry for leaving you for the summer, and I'm even sorrier about everything that has occurred since then. I would like us to be friends again." The clearing seemed still and silent for a moment.

Hephaestion's mind was working overtime trying to assimilate everything Alexander had said. Part of him wanted to tell Alexander that he didn't care, that nothing the other boy could do, would make up for the feelings that had frustrated him for so long, but another bigger part just admired Alexander's courage. Hephaestion knew his own faults, and he knew that he would not have the courage or the humility to apologise to someone as Alexander was doing. Since Alexander was a child he had been the Crown Prince, the boy whose every action was perfect, who Hephaestion was quite sure had never had to apologise in his life. And now that same boy was sitting in front of him, his heart in his eyes asking to be forgiven. There was at least one thing Hephaestion _was _and that was generous, a trait he shared with Alexander. Besides Alexander had been his best friend. He made his choice. "I would like us to be friends as well." His posture was stiff and tense, and he stood as though to relieve the intensity of the pressure of the atmosphere. Alexander stood as well, and it was as though he had lit up, like a candle or a lamp. Even his hair seemed brighter, and his eyes deeper. With no warning at all, he caught Hephaestion in a hug, held him tightly against him. Hephaestion stiffened, but then relaxed, and allowed himself to be held.

Alexander smiled happily, then his face twisted in horror. His body was reacting to the close contact with Hephaestion with an enthusiasm he had seldom experienced before, and hurriedly he let go, backing away. "I… I have to go," he stuttered, before dashing off towards the stream. Hephaestion watched him go with a puzzled frown, unsure of just what Alexander was doing. With a shrug he walked off back to camp, a little lighter of heart.

Alexander on the other hand was on his knees, deeper in the woods gasping for breath after his desperate run. Oh sweet Zeus, the touch of Hephaestion's slim body against his own had been the cue for a disturbing reaction. This could _not _be happening. Hephaestion was… off limits. Much too young, too special, too different, to use like that, as no-more than a body. Besides, he thought wryly Hephaestion had made his views on quite clear. He shook his head, and wiped the sweat from his brow. It was an , he told himself. He didn't really want Hephaestion like that. It was just the combination of another body, an over active imagination and frustration. By the time he had got back to the camp, he had talked himself out of attributing any sort of reason to what had happened, and was on the point of convincing himself that it hadn't even happened.

The other boys were surprised to see that Alexander and Hephaestion were talking to each other again- no matter how warily or stiffly. It reminded Aristotle of two cats walking around each other assessing the situation and what they saw of each other before making a decision about whether to trust one another again. He wondered as he stumped briskly around, just what had prompted the sudden change, and whether Alexander and Hephaestion would ever share again the same trust that once had characterized their relationship. They were polite at the very least. Alexander seemed the most skittish, glancing quick looks at Hephaestion then looking away as soon as they were felt, while the younger boy seemed visibly confused, at the very mixed signals that Alexander was giving off.

On the way back to Mieza, Alexander asked Hephaestion if he'd ever met Demosthenes. Hephaestion looked at him puzzled. "Yes," he replied. "When I lived in Athens, and my father held parties, Demosthenes was always invited, not just because my father admired him, but because whether you like or dislike his views, he is an extremely eloquent speaker." He paused then continued. "He was very fond of me and my brother."

Alexander stopped in his tracks, forcing Hephaestion to stop as well. "You had a _brother_?" He sounded absolutely astonished. He had known Hephaestion for almost ten years, yet he had never known that he had a brother, not even when they had told each other everything.

Hephaestion's gaze darkened. "Yes," he said quietly. "He was ten years older than I. He died six months before we left Athens."

Alexander had no idea about what to say in answer. "What was his name?" was all he managed.

"He was called Lysander."

"Was he like you?" Alexander could not work out why he was so fascinated.

"No, we were as different as two brothers could be. He was blond with blue eyes, tall, very outgoing, almost pretty. He made friends wherever he went, everyone liked him, but he was the most modest person I have ever met. I don't really remember very much about him." He dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. "Yes we knew Demosthenes. My father is a popular man despite his politics, and he kept a good house. I even remember meeting Memnon of Rhodes once. A gruff man, but kind."

It was a bit embarrassing Alexander reflected, that the same company his father kept as a king, was shared by a simple general back in Athens- one with neither much money nor position either. He shook his head in bemusement. "I always thought Demosthenes disliked children," he said, remembering one cutting rebuke the orator had thrown at him, when he had visited.

Hephaestion shrugged. "I always heard tell that he was fond of children. I remember him saying he d spoilt little prigs though once."

Alexander winced, having to remind himself that Hephaestion could not possibly know of the Demosthenes incident. Spoilt little prig? He might have been precocious, but that was rather cruel. He had no doubt that Hephaestion had been a precocious child as well, and yet Demosthenes didn't seem to have called him epithets that would make any child blush. He nodded. "I just wondered," he said. He was dying to enquire more about Hephaestion's brother Lysander, but he could tell it was not a subject that Hephaestion particularly enjoyed talking about. Instead as they walked, he thought about what little, Hephaestion had told him, and began to imagine what he must have been like. He would be twenty five or so now, he supposed, and from what Hephaestion had let drop, very good looking. Alexander being Alexander, he could not leave the subject alone. "Why did you never mention him to me?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Hephaestion shrugged. "It's not important. Most families have someone who dies young." He did not mention to Alexander, the nights of crying under bedclothes, waiting for Lysander to return, not understanding why his beloved elder brother had so suddenly vanished. Maybe once he would have told him, but not now. He didn't mention his mother looking like a ghost, or his father drinking late into the night every night, or Lysander's distraught lover, who haunted their house at all hours, as though seeking to find some trace of the departed. He didn't mention that it had been his father's drink fuelled rages that had caused his opinions to be so publicly known in Athens, that they had been forced to move to Macedonia permanently. None of this passed his lips. Honestly though, he spoke. "I haven't thought of Lysander in years."

Alexander nodded, deep in thought. He had always wondered why Hephaestion's parents had only the one child, when they obviously loved children so much, and this naturally explained why. As though making a peace offering Hephaestion spoke again. "I have a picture of him if you would like to see it."

Alexander nodded, accepting the offer for what it was, a tentative hand reaching out. "I'd like that."

Which was why, seven hours later, he was sprawled out on the hard cot Hephaestion slept on, looking at the rough charcoal drawing of Hephaestion's brother. It was drawn by a skilful hand, but there was more than that, in the passion that made the picture alive. "Who drew it?" he asked.

"My brother's lover," was the brief reply. "He gave it to me." _To comfort me_, he thought silently.

Alexander looked up. "It's beautiful," he said sincerely. Then looking down at it, he noticed something. The drawer's subject was practically identical to Hephaestion. Precisely the same features, just re-arranged a little differently. It was Hephaestion's mouth in the same half humorous pout, tempered by a nose that was slightly shorter, and eyes set slightly closer together. The hair had been slightly tinted in blond by some artist's art that Alexander knew nothing of. Though the features were very similar- an obvious familial resemblance, there were strong expression differences. Where Hephaestion was still and quiet, every line of the drawing screamed Lysander's energy, and the smile hinted at a sweeter personality. Alexander wondered if Hephaestion had always been overshadowed by this beautiful, vivacious elder brother- even after he was gone. But looking at Hephaestion's face, he decided that resentment was the last thing on the other boys mind.

Hephaestion carefully put the picture away. He spoke into thin air. "I always felt terribly guilty about keeping that picture. My parents don't have one. It's just I feel that I'll forget what he looks like, if I don't have a visual reminder. Alexander didn't know what to say, so he remained silent, and Hephaestion seemed to appreciate it, because he took the opportunity to change the subject. "It's your birthday soon," he said cheerfully, sitting up, and looking at the sprawled Alexander.

Alexander nodded, "I'll be sixteen," he said with more than a touch of glee. "Soon father won't have any excuses not to let me ride with the army properly." He showed a hint of teeth in a smile, and Hephaestion laughed his first genuine laugh in months. At that moment, he felt all the barriers he'd built up against Alexander fall, and the old feelings of warmth and trust rise again. He attempted to squash them back- Alexander might be being capricious, might any moment revert to that odd coldness, but he felt himself weaken, and finally admitted to himself that he had missed Alexander, almost as much as he'd missed Lysander when he'd died. With that in mind, he looked at Alexander warmly, unconscious of Alexander's faint indrawn breath, or sudden flush, though he did think something was amiss when the usually graceful Alexander fell off the bed. Laughing, he rolled over to peer at the fallen prince. Alexander looked up, pretending to growl in anger, and made a pounce which Hephaestion easily avoided. This merriment was interrupted by the sound of deep voices at the end of the hallway. Alexander easily recognised his father's tones, and that of Amyntor.

When they appeared at the doorway, his thoughts were confirmed. Philip stared at them, his eyes raking over the flushed and untidy Hephaestion, almost impolitely knowing and assessing. The look he gave his son was odd; his eyebrow arched in amusement, his face almost sardonic. Alexander felt a sudden rush of anger, at the way his father looked at Hephaestion, the look almost covetous, as though… desiring, and he had to cast his eyes down, lest a measure of his feelings escape. He knew of his father's reputation as a man who had made it his business to work through every pretty boy and even prettier maid that he possibly could, but it had never bothered him before this moment. Hephaestion seemed to sense the look, and curl up within himself, tugging at his clothes, flattening his straight hair, and looking anywhere but the king. All this was conducted in a split second. The next, Philip had bounded forward, and embraced Alexander roughly, while Amyntor and Hephaestion greeted each other as well, their greeting warmer if less demonstrative. Amyntor also spared a friendly nod for Alexander, and a bear hug that if given by anyone else than the general would have seemed inappropriate between their ranks. Philip in his turn embraced Hephaestion, who stood stiff as a board, and hurriedly made his excuses, taking his father along with him, leaving Alexander and the king alone.

Philip broke the silence with a loud laugh. "Surprised to see me, boy?" he enquired. Alexander nodded, scarcely knowing what else to do. What on earth _could _he say to that? Philip continued. "Your birthday soon, lad, couldn't miss it. Unfortunately business held up Amyntor at the time of his son's birthday, so he can greet him properly now anyway. Hephaestion has changed hasn't he?" The words were , but the tone was almost barbed.

Alexander's hackles rose. "Yes," he agreed smoothly. "He has grown up hasn't he?"

Philip laughed heartily again. "More than grown up Alexander, and in such a way." He had caught sight of Hephaestion's eyes, before the lad had left, and been pleasantly surprised by them. Not many had such truth forcing eyes, especially not when they glistened with so much intelligence. Or were such a lovely shade of grey. He considered mentioning that to Alexander, watching the boy bristle. It would be fun to push his supposed heir as far as he could. But he deemed it wise to make his moves slowly. Besides Amyntor had made it clear that anyone who touched his son without his tacit permission, would face a challenge, and Philip had enough Companions, not to want to risk his general. Nothing was in the rules about flirting however, and if there was one thing the king was good at it, it was flirting.

So it was that Hephaestion spent an extremely uncomfortable dinner, sitting next to his father, with Philip only a couch away. The king was not exactly swilling drunk, but he was drunk enough to eye Cassander who was currently serving him with more food, and that was an indicator of inebriation. Not that Cassander was ugly, but he certainly was not Philip's type, which tended far more to the slim youths, than to an almost man such as Cassander, who already had a short beard coming through that he was inordinately proud of. Alexander on the other side of Philip was currently seething with resentment. To be bored, mocked and tired, all in the course of one dinner, just did not seem fair to him. The only other person who seemed as bored, was Hephaestion. The rest of their comrades were obviously having fun, in the main portion of the room, supervised by one of the training masters, while Alexander and Hephaestion were forced to sit by their respective fathers. Aristotle drank very little, and that mostly diluted, keeping a sharp eye on his charges, often rapping them on the knuckles when they least expected it. Even this small relief was denied to Alexander, Aristotle maintained some sort of decorum when around the king at least. He debated, whether it would be worth the stares, if he went and sat next to Hephaestion, but took so long deciding that the dinner was over, before he had finally made up his mind to do so.

Amyntor and Philip adjourned to a separate room after dinner, with a glass of wine each, and a pitcher of more. Aristotle had been invited to join them, but had politely refused, citing weariness. The king was slouched in his chair, and talking in tangents, one moment about the weather, the next about Persia, none of which really required answers until he mentioned Hephaestion. "Alexander seems very fond of your Hephaestion," he said abruptedly.

Amyntor nodded with a pleased smile. "Hephaestion has changed so much since I saw him last. He has matured in almost every way. I spoke to Aristotle who seemed much impressed with his progress, particularly in mathematics which he has a gift for. I ed a word with his training master as well, who assures me that Hephaestion excelling at what he is taught, but who appears to be using his skills primarily by getting into fights. And with your son no less!" Though Amyntor's words were stern, he was obviously full of pride with his son.

Philip laughed his usual hearty laugh. "Who wins the majority of the fights?" he enquired.

Amyntor smiled. "From what I have heard, your Alexander has the gift of Hercules when it comes to swordsmanship, and conquers all in his way, while Hephaestion excels at hand to hand combat."

"Then they are fairly equally matched," observed Philip. He cast a shrewd glance at his old friend. "Has no-one yet tested Hephaestion's guard?"

Amyntor laughed. "There are scarcely many contenders in Mieza. You make it sound my friend, as though I stand over him with drawn sword, and challenge any possible lovers. I can assure you that is not the case. When Hephaestion finds someone agreeable then no-one will be happier than me, until then it is my job to protect him from those who would merely use his innocence."

"And you do this from when he is in Mieza?"

Amyntor shrugged expansively. "I repeat. I keep no lock nor guard on my son. I have counselled him in these matters, and he knows what is true from what is false, and I can trust him to make those decisions for himself. You may think me overly stern with the boy, protest that the odd flirtation does no harm, but you did not live in Athens for the length of time I did, nor encounter those, both male and female, who make a living breaking hearts."

Philip pondered on this. "By so forewarning and guarding him, do you not feel that you have extracted the romance from any situation? Will not your Hephaestion not measure and judge and condemn too harshly, forsaking any attempt at flirtation?"

Amyntor shrugged. "I do not know Philip. Perhaps I was spoilt by my older son, who fell in love with one who reciprocated the feeling intensely, and who never had to endure the heartbreak of a casting off. I merely have warned Hephaestion of the dangers of falling so intensely in love with another, especially at his age." He saw in his mind's eye, the distraught and broken figure of Lysander's lover, the glint of madness in his eyes, as he haunted the house for traces of the one he had loved, and shivered. He would not inflict that devotion on his son if he could help it.

Philip shrugged. "Alexander is different. His mother insisted that all he needed was a to rouse his affections, but that did not appear to have worked. Now, he writes long moon-struck letters to his mother, talking of love and devotion, Achilles and Patroclus, and stares like a calf at your son without even noticing. I despair of him sometimes."

Amyntor laughed. "Don't be too harsh on him Philip. It's no more than an infatuation, and I can assure you Hephaestion is perfectly unaware of his attentions." He reflected on his son, pride again tingeing his thoughts, and sadness as well. Hephaestion was so like his brother in face, and yet so different in personality, dark where Lysander had been light, silent where Lysander had been gay. And his eyes, those solemn eyes that were reflected in no other of his family. He wondered suddenly if he had done wrong by Hephaestion, should have encouraged him to find love where he would, rather than to quantify it as an equation with mathematical precision, and to simply wait for life to spit out the answer, and he determined to talk with his son the next day.

Philip ruminated, staring at his glass of wine. He d to even think such a thing, but Olympias was right. It was to say the least unbecoming that Alexander was almost sixteen, and still had not bedded with anyone, and he began to wonder if he himself should take a hand in the situation. No this time, he was going to have to find some genuine candidates if not for love, then at least for fun. Amyntor broke the silence with a laugh of his own. "You are a romantic Philip," he declared, causing the man in question to raise an eyebrow.

"I am no such thing," replied Philip nettled. A romantic indeed!

Amyntor grinned knowingly at him. "Yes you are," he teased. "You really hope that Alexander will fall in love with someone. And you behave like a lovestruck maid yourself on occasion." Philip stared at him in utter amazement.

"I do no such thing," he said, trying vainly to reassert his dignity, or as much of the tatters as he could wrap around himself. Maybe the Persians had the right of it, he thought to himself. He was fairly sure they wouldn't allow their generals to speak thus to them, much as though he usually appreciated Amyntor's forthright speech. Amyntor simply raised a companionable eyebrow of his own, and stood up and stretched.

"Well I'm for bed," he announced. "Tomorrow is soon enough." He walked towards the doorway, and disappeared down the hallway, though not before he shot a passing remark. "Don't wake that young man who served tonight, too harshly.

Philip grumbled to himself, about such a display of rudeness, but the atypical conversation with Amyntor had given him much to think about. He couldn't ever remember his general discussing something like this before, and he resolved to keep a close eye on Hephaestion and Alexander. Some thing had obviously tweaked the general's attention, and Philip relied a good deal on Amyntor's instinct.

_Chapter 4 done and dusted, and they still haven't kissed yet. What a pity :P Oh well. Chapter 5 will be uploaded as soon as I've written it._

_Reviews welcome._


	5. Chapter 5

**Title**: Forgotten Lakes

**Chapter:** 5/?

**Fandom**: Alexander (Historical. _Not _bloody movie.)

**Rating**: PG-13 for slash (implied in this chapter)

**Pairing**: Alexander/ Hephaestion

**Summary**: Alexander newly baffled by the onset of a new emotion, attempts to tame it.

**A/N: **This is a filler chapter so apologies for the lack of substantial content, or movement of the storyline.

Thank you for reviews to: kadaj's-girl91, Yaoi Angel, Moon71, CoralDawn, A Horse Called Hwin, SongNatasha, anberzen, Baliansword, Yolass, Arlad, HavenRain, Aidan and Sushoo. As always much appreciated!

There was no doubt reflected Amyntor that Hephaestion was his son. Even if he had not trusted his wife as much as he did himself, the sight that greeted his eyes as he entered the room, would have confirmed it. Hephaestion was seated cross-legged on his bed, perusing a bulky manuscript, with every appearance of the deepest attention. He did not resemble Amyntor much physically, but even his father could recognise his own little mannerisms in his child- the way Hephaestion held the item slightly crooked rather than perfectly straight, the little frown between his eyebrows that deepened when he read something he did not like, even in the nervous twitch of his hand occasionally. Not to mention that Hephaestion did not even recognise that someone had entered the room. He stared at the dark head of his son for a moment allowing pride to fill him. They had done well with this one. Hephaestion had his faults, indeed major ones, but Amyntor thought that even allowing for the obvious partiality of a father, he was a credible example of a youth.

He coughed, and Hephaestion leapt off the bed to stand in front of him, smiling warmly. "Father," he exclaimed, "forgive me; I did not hear you enter." Amyntor nodded to him to reseat himself, and sat on the end of the pallet.

"How are you my son?" he enquired.

"Very well, thank you father. How are mother and yourself?"

"We are both very well, and your mother sends her love." He hurried on, knowing Hephaestion's strange gift of sensing lies and deception, and added. "What are you reading?" He did not want to tell his son, that his mother had been suffering from peculiar and unexplained headaches that incapacitated her for days at a time. It was painful to think of his beautiful wife, reduced to a shivering wreck, by the advent of such pain that she did not even recognise her family or servants. The pain that it caused him was such that he could barely think of the subject and he saw no reason to force his son to share the burden with him

Hephaestion did not seem at all convinced, but merely replied. "It's a manuscript of Aristotle's that he is allowing me to read."

His father nodded. "Do you get on well with him?"

"Very well father. He is an excellent teacher."

"I am glad. Naturally we could expect nothing else from one of the great Plato's acolytes." He shifted a little uncomfortably where he was sitting. "I am sorry I could not attend your birthday. Alas I was detained elsewhere, and the trip was not one your mother could have easily made

Hephaestion shook his head. "It doesn't matter father, honestly. It was pleasant enough."

Amyntor nodded, and then picked up something which he had carried into the room with him. "Your mother and I decided that your fifteenth birthday would be an ideal time to give you this." He held out a sword. Hephaestion received it reverently into his hands, gawping in the manner of a fish. Though it was customary for well born youths to be gifted with their weapons and armour such as it was, it was rare that such a priceless family heirloom was handed down for actual use. The most prized possession of their family, the sword was straight and true, beautiful and ly.

"I merely wish my skills were equal to this weapon," Hephaestion said ruefully.

Amyntor merely smiled. "I have no doubt that you will prove worthy of such a blade. But I must speak with you about something rather more serious. This blade symbolizes strength my son. It stands for honour and justice and war. What it also stands for that may not spring so readily to mind. It is a living reminder of what we fight _for. _Taking a man's life seems such a simple thing at the time. Merely one stroke and he is separated from the living, no more than a shade. We take his life, but whom do we deprive of him? Friends, family, a wife or a lover, children of a father. There are reasons that we have laws against . There are reasons why it was one of the greatest sins a man can commit outside of war, the Gods and our temporal laws disapprove of the heedless disposal of a man's life except for reasons of self defence. It is these laws that in the right application should protect even the lowest from attack by the highest. So you must consider, if taking a man's life is such a crime outside of war, then if you are the aggressor in a war, are you innocent of his ? The answer we come to of course is yes. But the sword is a symbol never to kill except for what you hold sacred. Your home, your heart, children, your wife. All of these, as well as death and war, this sword must stand for. It bears no dishonour upon its blade. Let thus its righteousness remind you, both of temperance, and for what you fight."

Hephaestion remained silent for a moment. Then quietly he asked. "You said this sword should not kill except for what you hold sacred. Is loyalty to a man, a good enough reason for ?"

The room was still and quiet. Amyntor knew what his son was asking, and knew if the wrong ears heard that it could be taken as treason. "Loyalty to a king or to a leader is a great virtue," he said heavily. "To hold such belief in someone that you would do such a thing at their command, is among the greatest of gifts a man can give. But integrity is important as well. If your king ordered you to slay an woman in cold , you should weigh up the worth of the king, and your private conscience's feelings. The conclusion to which you come, you should stick to, come what way. That decision must always be a free mans. To kill or to someone just because you have been ordered to is neither a virtue; unless you be of the lower ranks, nor the mark of an intelligent rational man. To merely do as obeyed, is a slave's privilege, or one of little rank." In an attempt to steer away from such a dangerous topic, Amyntor attempted levity, which would hopefully lead him onto the subject he had first come to talk to his son about, wishing not for the first time that Hephaestion had a pet name in the way Lysander had had, but even as young as five Hephaestion had refused to answer to anything _but _Hephaestion, though he had allowed Lysander on very special occasions to call him 'Tion. "You're growing up Hephaestion, and your mother bade me to enquire whether there was no-one who has taken your fancy in the least? Women are anxious to know such things," he added hastily.

There was only puzzlement on Hephaestion's face. "But father, you did warn me about foolish wastes of energy. You said nothing corrupts someone as much as lavishing fruitless affection, or bestowing directionless love. I have thought it over well, and I agree with you thoroughly. When the time comes, and the right person comes, then that is the time to deal with thoughts of love. Until then, keeping yourself apart from such things cannot help but be wise." His brow furrowed. "We talked of this some months back as I recall, but I must admit it is not until recently that I understood what you were saying. It seems as though I suddenly realized what odd things people did in the name of love." He did not tell his father about Cleitus- even the thought was sufficient to colour his cheeks lightly, and the entire incident was still a sore spot in his memory.

Amyntor could have kicked himself. In his haste to warn Hephaestion of the fallacy and worthlessness of puppy love, he should have known that his impressionable son- who _always _tended to take things to extremes, would have misinterpreted what he was saying. How did one go about rectifying such a woeful state of affairs? "Hephaestion my child I fear you have misunderstood me. When I counseled you against showing such displays, I did not mean that there should be no flirtations, none of the things to which youth is so inclined. I merely meant you should not force yourself into those feelings, nor delude yourself as to the strength of the affections that you do hold." He knew he was making a heavy meal of this conversation, and silently cursed. If only Helen was here, and could talk to her son. Then he reprimanded himself. It was not Helen's place to deal with their son in such a matter, but rather his own.

Hephaestion's features tightened, and unbidden he winced at the sudden memory of Cleitus. _I -I like you Hephaestion. I thought you liked me as well, but that little assumption has been cleared up I see. _He had not thought about how his actions could be perceived, and that had been the result. He wished suddenly that there was someone he could tell everything to, but settled for replying to his father's last words. "I do not have any inclination towards anyone Father, and I hope this state might continue." For a moment, he saw Alexander's face clearly in his minds eye, but shook his head. This wasn't the time or the place to be thinking about Alexander.

A sigh was Amyntor's only reply. He knew this was his fault. After Lysander's , he had sought to shield his one remaining child from all of life's blows, including that of a love whose object died. Now he saw that such an attitude had harmed Hephaestion more than it had helped. His son had grown up in a dream-world controlled by his own precocious thoughts and feelings, which had never been battered by the outside world, and had left Hephaestion with a residue of idealism and something approaching stoicness, that was simply not appropriate to a member of a worldly court like Philips. He smiled at his son, and took his leave, sadder than he had arrived.

A rather different discussion was taking place with Philip and Alexander, and in rather different circumstances. Having woken early- a habit of both of them, they had decided to take repast after a morning ride. With this aim in mind, they had journeyed some short distance from Mieza, before they agreed on a suitable spot. Philip was not a lavish man, and Alexander's hard tutoring when young had inured him to physical discomfort, so the basket that contained a rich and varied breakfast, was viewed in nonplussed silence, before by common consent they set it aside, eating only the fruit contained within and drinking the stream water. Philip stretched, and with his usual loud tone, enquired as to Alexander's wellbeing. Alexander replied quietly that he was well, and wished the same to his father. Philip had in mind, a little spot of tormenting for today, nothing much. Indeed just enough that his prospective young heir, did not presume to take things for granted, as he seemed in danger of doing. And in that respect Alexander was so similar to his mother, that it was almost a sin not to tease them both, if only to see the reactions. Philip unless drunk, could almost not be baited into insult, although there were exceptions to this rule, and in this he was rankly dissimilar from Alexander and Olympias who could be put out of temper for days by the lightest of teasing. He held his peace for the moment though, having no wish to tangle with an angry young man this early in the morning. He contented himself with small gibes therefore, merely provoking Alexander a little. Almost as much fun as bear baiting really. His mind wandered to Ariadna. Now _that _was a pretty , and given the right encouragement rather conducive to pleasure. He smiled in satisfaction, as he thought of last time he had visited her. Which reminded him. He had bedded with Callixenia, and although he had not managed to get a word out of her on the subject of Alexander, he had guessed successfully that she had not been to Alexander's liking. There had been just a hint of pique on finely shaped lips, when he had mentioned Alexander's name, and he had to confess this gave him a rather gleeful sensation of joy. Which must mean Gods above, that Alexander had still not shed that worthless abdication of his moral responsibility. Philip mused that he had just been lucky, in always managing to combine his duty with pleasure. After all there was no doubt, that Olympias in her day, and even now could turn heads. He had to wonder if the boy was merely stupid or backward. Philip had been fourteen, not almost sixteen, when he'd bedded with his first woman. Funny. He couldn't remember her name. He hadn't supposed that was the sort of thing you ever forgot.

For that day at least, Alexander was hard-pressed to keep his temper. His father did not need to be so blatantly obvious surely? It was disgraceful, how openly he flaunted his indiscretions, how avidly he pursued even those who were obviously not interested in him. He'd been training with Hephaestion in the yard, when they'd suddenly become aware that Philip was watching from the sidelines. Hephaestion who was _never _flustered, now began to shift in uneasiness, and to behave almost skittishly in avoiding the king. He found the attentions unwelcome, and even unflattering. Another might be pleased at the open compliment to their attractiveness, Hephaestion merely sensed the latent uality inherent in the gaze, and feeling himself ill equipped to deal with it, resorted in evasive tactics. This was not helped by the number of flattering comments that Philip made loudly about Hephaestion in Alexander's hearing. Alexander dimly guessed that there was nothing his father wanted more, than for him to lose his temper publicly, therefore he sough to hold it in, and Amyntor who had been viewing the proceedings with unease, was forced to speak to Philip directly about it. Philip laughed his attentions to Hephaestion off, but Amyntor to his growing disquiet was wondering whether Philip might not actually be a good idea for his son. Philip had had many years of letting people down gently afterwards, and there was no doubt he was a good teacher. He shoved the idea away with pure revulsion. Hephaestion did not need such experience.

Philip with the skill of a master puppeteer was directing precisely the movements of his little group. It had been instinct in him from the earliest age to thus attempt to manipulate circumstances, and it did not matter how inconsequential the outcome was, he wished to control it. It was not out of malice that he delighted in thus antagonizing his son, but rather out of impatience. Philip was a man who did not suffer his desires to be delayed. When he wished something he pursued it head-on and this intimable -footing around of Alexander's irritated him almost beyond belief. Why in the pantheon of Gods, did Alexander just not make his intentions clear? What was the worst that could happen? The boy could say no, in which case a few good nights were lost, and the business of living could be pursued. He disapproved of this romanticization of affairs. There was nothing wrong with romance in its place- he had employed it many times himself to persuade recalcitrant women to his bed, though that barb of Amyntor's about being a romantic, had struck a nerve, but this was a veritable marathon, and as far as Philip was concerned, anything that could be done to speed it up, damn well should be done. That way, Alexander would have this entire affair out of his system, and could get on with the much more important business of learning what was necessary. His rather simple aim (rather simpler than his battle plans) was to drive Alexander to make a declaration one way or another, and thus to direct attention back to the far more important matter of living day to day life, without your head in the clouds.

Alas Alexander did not possess either his father's thought processes, or his wider view of such matters. Instead his father's actions during this one day, served to drive them further apart than all Olympias's machinations had in years. He had not believed that even his father could be so ruthless in the pursuit of another, and the truth that he imagined this showed him about Philip coldened his affectionate feelings towards his father, while strengthening the unconscious seeds of despising him that had been planted by Olympias so many years ago. Father and son were too different and too similar all at once to understand each other, and what made it worse was that many of the qualities that Alexander did share with Philip were _also _attributes of Olympias. Philip had lost many years ago, Alexander's naivety in the matters of love and heroism, and though he could appreciate more than Amyntor, his son's situation as regards Hephaestion, he viewed it from the perspective of a successful man who had forgotten all the timidity in affairs of the heart that characterized youth. His motive may have been pure, but his actions were not, and the edge of malice in Philip's character added spice to the situation by playing it a mite more heavily than perhaps he should have.

When talking to Alexander, Hephaestion had reverted- not back to the coldness of before, but to the silence and stiffness he always felt when not in amenable company or that conducive to his personality. Hephaestion had no desire to be a leader, and little natural inclination that way, as was shown by his relations with the rest of the school class. Apart from Alexander he was on good terms with nearly everyone, but he neither led in their games of war, nor followed unless it was Alexander commanding. As Cassander had said half admiringly, half spitefully, it was though he simply did not notice anything apart from Alexander, even in the midst of their quarrel. He cultivated no alliances, made no pacts of undying friendship, pledged no loyalty, and indeed was equally polite and distant from everyone. Perhaps this came from the fact that being from Athens, he did not feel that he had any prior claims on anyone's friendship or enough status that it allowed him a superior bargaining position. Or more likely as Timones (no great friend of Hephaestion's,) said with a small degree of truth and a lot of spite, he just didn't notice anything past his nose.

In fact the real reason for Philip visiting was Alexander's upcoming birthday, which would mark him turning sixteen, and being practically . He expected that Alexander would renew his pleas then to join the army, taking on a command post in the midst of battle, as he had done every birthday since he was seven years old. The main difference of course this time, was that he just might be accepted.

_A shorter chapter than usual, very light on actual content. Hopefully less angsty next chapter- they might actually have some fun XD._


	6. Chapter 6

**Title**: Forgotten Lakes

**Chapter:** 6/?

**Fandom**: Alexander (Historical. _Not _bloody movie.)

**Rating**: PG-13 for slash. No longer implied

**Pairing**: Alexander/ Hephaestion

**Summary**: Alexander newly baffled by the onset of a new emotion, attempts to tame it.

**A/N: ** Another character has been introduced for this chapter only, and perhaps an appearance in the next. Though technically an OC he sorta sounds historical.

**Warnings: **Though still rated Teen, please be warned now that there are matters of a stronger ual matter implicit within. If anyone feels that it deserves an M, please let me know, though I feel that it is not strong enough to warrant such a rating, since though there are scenes of ual activity, the langauge is neither graphic nor crude. 

**Thanks for reviews: HavenRain, Moon71, CoralDawn, Yolas, Baliansword, Thevanished, anberzen,**:

The party had been thrown on a lavish scale. Almost the whole court had turned out to celebrate, and the hall was crowded with scents, silks and and quiet laughter. Wine flowed as freely as water, and was taken even more advantage of. Philip was in his element, drinking like a fish yet appearing no worse for wear, as he held court over those around him. Though it was a party designed to celebrate Alexander's birthday, he had quietly dodged the focus on him, seeking out only his friends to talk to, though he accepted compliments politely from others. The Queen herself was there, reclining in state, while Alexander's sister, as different as could be from her mother, stood beside her uncomfortably. Where one was sinuous and elegant, like a snake in human clothing, the other was undeniably more earthy. Cleopatra was her father's daughter, from her thick dark hair, to her stubborn chin. Like Alexander she had no great height even for a woman, and though she tried to compensate for this deficency by adopting similar flowing robes to her mother, she looked and felt uncomfortable. She was no great beauty yet, though when she tilted her head, and smiled she looked like Alexander, but in her face was intelligence and humour, and some people said consideringly, that she might blossom yet. Alexander ed a few words with them, Olympias looking at him, with pride ignited in her gaze.

Musicians sawed away in the corners, and Alexander listened, wincing a bit at the wrong notes, as he circulated the room, feeling bored, though he looked attentive to the casual eye. Philip had mentioned nothing about him joining the army, indeed had carefully steered away from the subject everytime Alexander mentioned it. Something in his gaze, had made Alexander feel ill mannered for even broaching the subject of conversation. He did not know how his father did it, but with only the simplest of gestures and words, he could either validate or destroy something. It was a gift he longed to acquire.

Later Alexander moved through the group, purposefully searching for Hephaestion. The younger boy had been drinking heavily, and even if he _had _inherited his father's strong head for drink, he was not used to alcohol in such quantities, as had been consumed by him during the evening. Soon he came across him, slumped fairly awkwardly on a couch, with an almost empty glass of wine clutched in one nerveless hand, and a dazed expression in his eyes. His chiton was stained with wine, from an earlier mishap when he had slipped from his seat. Looking at Alexander, and concentrating carefully, he was able to counteract the double vision that seemed to have assailed him, and he smiled a little hesitantly, as though wondering who on earth Alexander was, and what he was doing here.

Alexander sat down beside him, and took the wine glass, draining the last drops himself. "It's late," he said quietly. The party had wound down now, the last few drunken revellers who had not quitted the hall, sprawled comatose where they had fallen, the local village s who had been hired, looking at them in vague disappontment.

Hephaestion nodded in agreement. "You're right," he slurred, as though Alexander's observation was surprising, and somehow rather shocking. "It's very late," and he lapsed thoughtfully back into staring at the ceiling. "I'm tired," he said after a while. "I think I could sleep."

Alexander stifled a laugh. Hephaestion drunk was most engaging. The measured solemnity of his words echoed his usual personality, but their content did not, mostly consisting of short phrases unconnected to what went before. "I'll give you a hand to your room," he said, extending that appendage towards Hephaestion.

"Don't offer something you can't give," Hephaestion said irritably. "What earthly use would you be with only one hand?" He grasped the hand anyway, and pulled himself upright, looking blearily around the hall. Shaking his head, he moved slowly through the room, in the direction he imagined the chambers to be, before Alexander gently tugged him in the right direction. They stumbled through the hallway, until they came to the Spartan room that served Hephaestion as a resting-place. Alexander poured him a glass of water from the jug, and put it on the floor next to the bed.

"Come on," he murmurred softly, about to tug off Hephaestion's chiton, and somehow arrange him in the bed. Realising with a start, what he was about to do, he settled for tugging the topsheet from the bed, and draping it loosely around Hephaestion as he sat there, still fighting to make a coherent remark. Of _course _he had seen Hephaestion before, when they went swimming for example, but this seemed somehow different from those childish escapades. Hephaestion mumbled something indistinct, but did not lie back, merely draining the water. As he leaned to put the glass back, he fell off the bed, smashing his head against the stone floor, and groaning pitifully. With some speed, though his own reactions were impaired by the wine he had consumed himself, Alexander joined him, helping him to re-orientate himself, by the simple expedient of tugging him right back up.

"My head aches," Hephaestion complained softly, and though Alexander sympathised, he couldn't keep a smile off his lips. Hephaestion was usually so competent, cool and in control, that to see him in a state of utter disarray, and complaining of a head ache was something of a treat, to Alexander at least. Finally he managed to propel Hephaestion to lie back on what passed for a pillow. Aristotle might be no Leonidas, but neither did he believe in unnecessary luxury- for his pupils at least. "Hmmm," Hephaestion muttered to himself. Alexander brushed his hand over his face softly, "goodnight," he whispered, his own eyes heavy with unrealised sleep.

"G'night," was his only reply, and Hephaestion was asleep. Alexander sighed, and pulled himself up slowly, rubbing his own head, which had already started to ache itself. After escorting Hephaestion back, he had planned to sleep himself, but he didn't feel tired enough to sleep yet. A peculiar watchful awareness seemed to suffuse him, and direct his steps away from the sleeping chambers and back into the hall. There he slumped down, and looked around him. Casting his eyes over the women present, he sighed. Nearly all the pretty ones were gone, already claimed by others, and the rest were mostly concerned with collecting up the debris of a successful party. Then someone caught his eye. A man he hadn't seen before, obviously a friend of the Kings, judging from his expensive clothing, and certainly not from Macedonia, was looking negligently at him. Alexander frowned, trying to think whom the stranger reminded him of. The man strolled closer, looking a little younger once out of the shadows, being perhaps late twenties. Grey eyes studied Alexander, and he smiled. Alexander nodded, waiting for the man to come closer.

When he gestured to the other man to join him, he readily obliged, holding out a half glass of wine to Alexander. "Joy to you," he said in a low voice, that made the words sound more intimate than they actually were.

Alexander responded, lifting the glass and drinking a little. "May I ask who you are?" he enquired, eyeing the man with all the freedom of someone a little too deep into their cups.

A smile was bestowed upon him, and the answer readily given. "Nicanor. I'm a visitor from Thebes. They call me the mad noble-poet." Alexander laughed, not sure if the other man was being serious or not. "And you are?"

Alexander peered at Nicanor, sharply, but there was no deception in his eyes, and Alexander gave his answer, watching the other man's face carefully. "I am called Leontas," he said, naming the first name that sprang into his head. There was no flicker of doubt on the other man's face, merely an interest, that caused Alexander to sit a little straighter.

"A beautiful name, for one who if I may be permitted to say so, is a beautiful young man," was the reply. Alexander smiled, and looked down, politely murmuring something. He was studying Nicanor. The other man was tall, taller than Alexander by a head at least, with a body obviously sculpted by war. His face was fine boned, with deep set eyes, and thin lips, framed by dark hair. Though handsome, he was not classically beautiful, his features a little too irregular, and his face carved by originality, rather than perfection. Alexander looked at him hard, and decided there and then, that he would do. The name of the person whom he inexplicably reminded Alexander of was still not springing to mind, but that could be thought of a little later.

"I am too warm in here," stated Alexander, not caring how cliched the line was. The reason it was a cliche, was because it obviously got the job done. "Would you mind accompanying me outside?" It was not really a request, and Nicanor obviously knew that.

"Certainly," he murmurred, and followed where Alexander led, which happened to be to the stone plaza. They strolled down for a moment, Alexander lost in thought, though the wine still bolstered his nerves, and steadied his courage. When they were far away, that the lights could no longer be seen, Alexander stopped and turned, struggling for something to say. White teeth flashed in a grin, as though Nicanor could sense his hesitance, and the next second his mouth was on Alexander's. This was no kiss such as he had received from his various classmates, either in play or in real. They had been at most no more than a couple of years older than him, sometimes a little younger, and not only that, they had mostly ceded nce to him automatically, to his forceful personality and his status. This was utterly different. Nicanor was not giving an inch, his every movement a statement of tion, in a way that Alexander found far more exciting than the tameness of his previous ually charged encounters with others. He felt a hand tug at his hair, and another encircle him, while his own hands clutched helplessly in the taller man's tunic, his heart racing beyond his control. He wasn't sure if it was the wine or the embrace that was making him feel dizzy, and he honestly didn't care at this moment, letting out a small moan that was swallowed up. He could feel lips both gentle and demanding, urging him to cede control utterly.

When the contact stopped abruptedly, he opened eyes he hadn't noticed had closed, and looked up at Nicanor. The older man was looking at him with an expression that Alexander did not really understand, it took him a moment to realise what it was, and when it did, it sent a shiver down his spine. Desire. He had seen it directed at others, even towards him, but never to this extent. Nicanor spoke quietly. "I should tell you I am only in Macedonia for a couple of days."

Alexander did not break his gaze. "That's all right," he said, "that's what I want."

Nicanor's gaze lightened. "If that's what you want," he murmurred against Alexander's cheek, "then perhaps we should be inside." Weighing up the relative merits of being utterly unobserved, against those of comfort, Alexander settled for comfort, and nodded his assent. Though only their hands brushed, that small contact was enough to send an electric thrill through Alexander, that made his steps impatient. The guest room Nicanor had been assigned, was small but clean, and Nicanor wasted no time. Shutting the door, he seized Alexander again, taking up where they had left off outside. Alexander acted from instinct more than from knowledge, in that at least he was his father's son, encouraging Nicanor with every small sound, and artless movement.

He couldn't remember how they ended up on the bed, strong experienced hands tugging at the ties of his chiton. The very act made him shudder a little harder, worming hands out, to attempt to reciprocate the actions, not knowing what to do properly. His hands tugged the other man closer, feeling the smooth weave of clothing, and the warmer, smoother flesh underneath. His body seemed to know more than he did, moving in a way that surprised even him with its avariciousness. When Nicanor finally touched him properly, Alexander gritted his teeth to contain his yell of surprise. He had done this himself, but it felt entirely different like this. He moved against the other man, hazily aware that he should at least attempt to do the same, but his body seemed utterly unwilling to let him move. Nicanor was looking at him, with the same expression as earlier, a greedy look that made Alexander flush, and feel uncomfortable aware of their positions. The hands moved, tugging at Nicanor's own ties, and then across Alexander's face, smoothing back his hair gently, running over his cheek. "Beautiful," the other man whispered, kissing his forehead, and extinguishing the candles beside the bed. The room was still lit by the full moon, but everything was thrown into relief, and Alexander thought detachedly, that it was a lot easier to do this, in such an atmosphere, where he didn't have such a surfeit of light, to illuminate to him just precisely what he was doing. He heard the click of some sort of pot being opened, and unconsciously tensed, every line in his body screaming wariness.

Nicanor leaned over him. "Leonus," he said in a more serious voice. "Have you done this before?"

Sensing there was more to the question than simple curiousity, Alexander sat up, and replied truthfully. "No."

He felt the other man shift slightly, "I'm sorry Leonus. I can't with you." The statement was bare and bald with little embellishment.

In utter astonishment, Alexander looked at him. "Why on earth not?" he demanded. "If everyone said that, then there would be no relations at all."

"But not everyone says it," Nicanor reasonably pointed out, "Only I, and I do it only because I would feel guilty at doing such a thing then leaving you." He caressed Alexander's hair. "It's not you," he reassured, "I only began because I thought you were fully aware."

He was interrupted by Alexander. "I want this," he said firmly. "It has to happen with someone doesn't it? So why not you. I like you, and I want it to be like this, so if I'm terrible no-one will know. If I wanted someone to hold hands, and love, then I wouldn't throw myself at a stranger." He moved, so he could see the other man's face. "I'm honest," he said clearly. "I want to know what it feels like."

A range of emotions played out on Nicanor's face, then finally he came to a conclusion. "No," he said firmly, but leaned forward and caught Alexander's mouth, "I won't do that with you, but I will do this." The mood was slower this time, more gentle, yet somehow even more intimate, and Alexander was again shivering before the end, as his body responded to the touch. Forgetting his own shyness, he explored the other man's body as best as he could, before finally venturing to a more intimate touching. The movement and soft touches the other man lavished on him, were bringing him closer to the edge, and with clumsy hands he attempted to do the same for Nicanor. He came first, calling a name he could not hear past the roaring in his ears, and only a little later, so did Nicanor, closing his mouth tight, and making no sound.

As Alexander lay there, more tired than he had thought possible, even after long runs, he turned to face Nicanor, and said drowsily. "There is something I should mention," he was about to tell his name, but a hand was laid gently on his face.

"You can tell me in the morning. Sleep now." There was a pause and then a final question. "Who is Hephaestion?"

_How very rude of Alexander to call out someone else's name . Okay, that scene was incredibly difficult to write. I cannot write intimacy, it comes out so stilted and foolish. Have to explain away Nicanor's reluctance to sleep with Alexander- just assume he's really noble, though actually there is a backstory to it, which doesn't fit into 'Far Away From Here.'_

_So Alexander is no longer a sweet little :). Tell me your thoughts! _


	7. Chapter 7

**Title**: Forgotten Lakes

**Chapter:** 7/?

**Fandom**: Alexander (Historical. _Not _bloody movie.)

**Rating**: PG-13 for slash. No longer implied

**Pairing**: Alexander/ Hephaestion

**Summary**: Alexander newly baffled by the onset of a new emotion, attempts to tame it.

**A/N: **Alas my readership for this story has declined sadly, from the peak of fourteen reviews, to the plateau of seven. Not that I count. Thanks to everyone who does read it and review, and be assured that even if I had no reviews I would still write on, it just wouldn't have the same urgency.

**Warnings: **None for this chapter really.

The next morning, Alexander stretched luxuriously, feeling his body extend. He was warm, he didn't have a headache... and his hand had just hit someone in the head. Sitting up, he looked at the other man. Nicanor's head was pillowed on his hand, his face peaceful in sleep. Alexander took the opportunity to study the other man while he had the chance. In repose his face was even more reminiscent of someone Alexander knew, but the similarity utterly eluded him. Eyes closed he looked older, probably thirty. Alexander looked at him for a long moment, then quietly stood, dressing himself. It was early, not even dawn, but it wouldn't be wise for the servants to see him slipping out of a guests room.

His familiarity with the place, guided him back to his own room, where he washed quickly, and changed. Dawn was just breaking, when he went in to shake Hephaestion awake. He fully expected the other boy, to groan in pain as light hit his eyes, and was unpleasantly surprised by the fact that Hephaestion merely yawned and sat up. There didn't appear to be a trace of pain on his features, or the slightest wince as he finally roused himself. "Hello Alexander," he said, and stretched. "You're up early aren't you?" A disgruntled look was his only reply, and Hephaestion not being able to decipher the look, laughed as he swung himself out of the bed, looking with distaste at his stained chiton. Shaking one out from the camphor chest at the foot of his bed, he proceeded to change with little self consciousness. Glancing up, he saw Alexander close his eyes and turn away, and consumed by worry he hurried to him. "Are you ill?" he enquired.

Alexander fought to draw in a deep shuddering breath, as he felt Hephaestion's worried hand on his shoulder, and the subtle heat of the other boys skin. The hunger he had thought appeased last night, returned in full force, magnified even, by the simplest touch. He had thought that perhaps he could satisfy his body in such a manner that once satiated it would cease its importunate demands upon him, but this was proved wrong. Last night had not had the effect he had expected. It had seemed to uncover a need within himself for more. Having had a taste, he longed after the whole fruit. Unknowingly, his fingers clenched into fists. He managed to draw on a smile though for his friend. "I feel a little queasy after last night," he improvised, and Hephaestion gave an understanding nod.

"Come on," he said with a grimace. "Father wants me to meet someone, and he asked for me to be early. Apparantly Theastus complained I was lazy at waking up in the morning." They exited together, talking of nothing much, mostly recounting details from the night before. Amytor himself was up and about already, the habits of a soldier died hard with him.

"Hephaestion," he said greeting his son and Alexander warmly. "I wished you to meet your cousin. He arrived last night too late for me to introduce him, but he is most anxious to meet you." He led them outside the rooms, to the stables where a familiar form leaned upon the fence, staring at what was obviously his horse, a proud, spirited mare. Alexander held back a gasp of shock, and immediately began formulating a reason to slip away. It was too late. The man had turned, revealing his face. It was Nicanor. It would be hard to say whose face was more thunderstruck. Amytor did not notice anything amiss. "Hephaestion, this is your mother's nephew and your cousin Nicanor."

Hephaestion embraced him, and murmured a greeting politely. Nicanor nodded, and turned to Alexander. Amytor noticed his glance and began to introduce him, but was interrupted by a smiling Nicanor. "I have met Leonus already, at the gathering last night."

Amytor's eyebrow raised, and he glanced at Alexander questioningly. "You must be mistaken Nicanor. Perhaps it was someone else. This is Prince Alexander."

Nicanor covered smoothly, Alexander had to give him that. "Ah, forgive me. Remembering faces is not my greatest gift. A pleasure to meet you Prince Alexander." His glance was amused, and rather droll as his eyes flickered from his cousin Hephaestion, to Alexander's face that was flaming with agitation. "Perhaps you will be kind enough to show me the grounds later." Alexander nodded mutely. Amytor glanced at him. The prince seemed distressed, and he attempted to change the subject, inadvertently putting his foot in it even deeper.

"Hephaestion and I must discuss something. I beg your forgiveness for my rudeness." With that, he led an utterly bemused Hephaestion away, wrongly believing him to be the source of the agitation so plainly showing on Alexander's face.

Once Amytor was beyond earshot, Nicanor gave Alexander a sardonic look. "Well well," he murmured. "Prince Alexander." Alexander's face was flushed with mortification that Nicanor found easy to interpret, and explain. "You needn't worry lad. This won't become public knowledge, though I'd advise you that before you consider accepting any more prospective lovers that you give them your real name to begin with, whether you plan to see them again or not." He sighed.

Alexander pressed a hand to his flushed cheek, and attempted to explain. "I didn't _mean _to lie.." A raised eyebrow stopped that in its tracks. "I mean, I just didn't want to complicate things. It was nice that you didn't know who I was.."

"You wanted the cover of anonymity?" Nicanor said.

"Yes," said Alexander softly. "I wanted to see your reaction to me. Without the title, and the baggage attendant upon it. To see if I was enough."

A sigh was his answer. "Prince Alexander. You're a pretty boy, but you'd be even prettier if you didn't say such blindly stupid things. Your title is part of you. If you were just plain Leonus, do you think you would have the same personality and character? Of course not. In future rely on your own charms, rather than the dubious ones of a false name, and alcohol." He clapped Alexander on the shoulder, and the boy was relieved to note the touch had no effect at all. They began ambling down to where Hephaestion and Amytor were sitting on a stone bench talking. "So thats my cousin Hephaestion." Nicanor commented.

Alexander glanced sharply at him, not fooled by the noncommital expression. "Yes. My _friend_ Hephaestion."

Laughter issued from Nicanor's lips. "How... interesting." A smile twitched on his lips. "I take it he's utterly oblivious then?"

Sensing a challenge in the words, Alexander drew himself up taller. "I don't know what you are talking about," he said coldly.

Nicanor's eyes were not unpleasant, but there was a malicious twinkle in them that sat ill with Alexander's nerves. Unbeknowest to Alexander, Nicanor was as sharp as his cousin, and being a good deal older had far more knowledge of the world and so he had immediately spotted what so eluded the understanding of the Crown Prince. Deciding actions would be better than words, he nodded, then strode a little faster to meet the father and son. He stood behind Hephaestion, ostenibly scrutinizing the view, in reality looking at Alexander, demonstrating clearly the resemblance between himself and his younger cousin. Even apart from their colouring- both had grey eyes, and black hair, there was an obvious resemblance, albeit Nicanor was older, a resemblance that transcended mere physical features. Out loud Nicanor commented to Amytor. "Hephaestion definitly takes after his mother's family." The words were to Amytor, but the meaning was directed towards Alexander.

Once again an angry flush leaped to colour Alexander's cheeks. "Actually I always thought he resembled his father," he said coolly, anxious suddenly to have Nicanor leave. The other man, like his taicturn relative had the gift of utterly turning a situation on its head, and forcing unwelcome viewpoints on people, not from a desire to cause upheaval, but from an inability to utter a prudent lie, or indeed keep their mouths shut when they wanted to say something. What right had the other man to amble into his life, and on the basis of a sexual encounter and an hour's aquaintance try to distort his life, turn it upside down, shake it and watch the secrets tumble out?

Nicanor seemed to sense this because he turned to his uncle and cousin, and gave a genuine smile of apology. "I'm afraid I must leave now. I regret not having more time to spend in your company. Please tell Helene I shall visit her as soon as I can." He bowed to Alexander. "A pleasure meeting you." Amytor stood as well, and they walked back together talking quietly, leaving Hephaestion and Alexander behind. Alexander cast himself on the bench beside his friend, and sighed deeply.

"What did you think of your cousin?" he asked Hephaestion ironically.

Hephaestion looked puzzled. "I don't know," he said finally. "He is like my mother, only less restrained somehow." He could not enunciate what he meant in clearer words, indeed did not understand, except by a vague intuition. Actually Hephaestion's mother, and Nicanor had a great deal in common, only her natural intelligence, and sharp wits had been blunted by the limitations set on a woman's education and sphere, where his had thrived. His mother's marriage to his father had been opportune for them both, and wildly successful against all the odds. A beauty in her day, Helene's father had despaired of marrying her, since he was unwilling to give her to a man who would mistreat her because of her too swift tongue. Finally, a general from Athens had seemed to fit the bill. A prominent, upstanding citizen, and a quiet decent man he seemed perfect. They had only met seldom, but he took rare delight in her perception, and she blossomed in his company. When they were finally married, the citizens had been approving. After her marriage, Helene had calmed herself, until her natural wit and vivaciousness were held within bounds, and yet were still of use to her husband. He on the other hand, took every care of her, supporting her through four miscarriages, when he was urged to divorce her as barren. Eventually they had been rewarded with Lysander, and finally when they had given up all hope of more children, with Hephaestion. "What about you?"

Alexander shrugged. "Interesting." He stood, suddenly restless. "Come on Hephaestion, lets _do _something." It was early enough that some people were just stumbling from their rooms, and lessons with Aristotle were out of the question, as the sage was sleeping off the consequences of far too much wine. They saw Ptolemy in the distance with a village lass, and swerved to avoid him.

"Shall we go swimming?" asked Hephaestion.

A shiver went down Alexander's spine. Something was urging him to say yes, telling him _this _was the moment, the moment that he had been waiting for. His mouth opened. "No," he heard himself saying. "Let's go for a ride." His tongue felt heavy and lifeless in his mouth, the roof dry as he swallowed. Dust seemed to coat his throat, and his eyes were sore from too little sleep.

A little look of surprise showed on Hephaestion's face, but he acquiesced easily. "Certainly. Lets get the horses." Bucephalus was easy to mount, and Hephaestion's horse though more skittish was also docile in the warmth. Hephaestion nudged him, and Alexander realised he was staring into thin space. "I'll get a drink if you want. Hold Aesylon for me please?" He was back in a few minutes, a flask over one shoulder, and a bag over the other. "All set," he said winking.

They let the horses ramble, guiding them in no particular way, merely away from Mieza into the surrounding countryside. It was warm for autumn, and the horses were not as fit as they might have been. Finally they decided the woods would be the best option. Tying the horses up, they walked a little in, finding a clearing dappled with shade, where they could lie in peace. Alexander lay down, unaware of how close he was to sleep. Finally his eyes closed, they could hold open no longer, and he slid into slumber, slipping down the tree until he was lying curled up on the ground. Hephaestion looked at his friend with affection and leaned his own head back. He didn't know how long they sat like that for, he was only aware he was half asleep himself when he heard voices. Instantly he was awake. Whoever they were, they were speaking in a rough dialect, and Hephaestion knew instincitively. _Bandits. _He stared at Alexander, and clamped a hand over his mouth, shaking him awake hard. Alexander shot up, his cry of surprise muffled by the small hand over his mouth. They listened to the voices, and Hephaestion let himself glance at Alexander. Neither of them carried any weapons apart from the beltknives at their waist, and there appeared to be at least three voices. Moving swiftly, they secreted the flask and bag in a hollow at the base of a tree, and made as though to climb it themselves. Alexander was the faster and better climber, he was already half way up when the bandits entered the clearing. Hephaestion was still on the ground.

Alexander looked back to see Hephaestion whip out his knife. It looked pathetic compared to the shining steel of the sword the man clutched in his hand, and the other man obviously thought so as well, because he let out a taunting laugh. "That the best you can do boy?" Alexander tensed himself, waiting for the moment that he knew would come. The other two were advancing behind their leader, obviously awaiting his command. The main bandit surveyed Hephaestion critically. "Not as pretty as I like them, but obviously well born. How much do you think his father would give for him back?"

The second man gave a crude laugh. "Not much after what we'll do to him." There was a laugh at his comment. "Come on, lets give it a go." He stepped forward, to touch Hephaestion's cheek. A moment later the tendon in his hand was cut, leaving it useless. Alexander sensed that this was the moment to strike- while the other two were staring in bemusement at their injured comrade. Like a cat, he leaped down from the tree, on top of the leader, while Hephaestion stepped forward to deal with the third uninjured man, knife flashing, as he ducked under the swing of the sword. With the speed he was renowned with by his comrades, Alexander dealt with his man, as Hephaestion buried his short knife in the others stomach, watching in faint distaste as his victim, clasped at the falling contents of his intestines. He didn't notice the man whose tendon he had slashed, was behind him, features wrung with pain and hate. Alexander picked up the sword from the ground, and ran him through swiftly.

They stood there, three bodies on the ground, and looked at each other. They were both white, blood drained from their faces, as they thought on what might have been. If Alexander wasn't so fast, and Hephaestion had had qualms about killing. Slowly reaction settled in, and their hands began to shake. The three men were nondescript. Dressed in ragged clothes, they were obviously peasants who having despaired of making a living, had turned to rape and pillage in their own small way. Hephaestion sighed, a long heavy sigh. Retrieving his knife from the body, he cleaned it on grass and thrust it back through his belt. They stared at the bodies unsure what to do, deciding in the end to tell the guard and let them decide. Alexander retrieved the flask, and poured a swallow of watered wine down his throat, and tossed it to Hephaestion who received it just as gladly.

Alexander sank down to the grass, suddenly weak and dizzy from reaction. "Hephaestion," he gasped, and his friend flopped down next to him, feet away from the bodies. Alexander flexed his arm, and winced. "I think I'm injured," he murmured.

Hephaestion pulled back his sleeve. "Just a scratch really. Wait a moment." He ripped a piece of material from his cloak, and washing the wound with the only wet thing close to hand, the wine he tied it around the arm tightly.

The only thing that sounded for a moment was their heavy breathing. Then Alexander said softly. "Do you know what this reminds me of?"

Silence reigned for a moment, then softly Hephaestion replied. "No."

Alexander bowed his head in order to look at his wound more closely. "Achilles," he whispered. "The wound is scarcely as honourably won, but such a friend to tend to it, is worthy of comparison." He looked up, and met Hephaestion's eyes.

Just as quietly Hephaestion replied. "Just as honourably won Alexander." He gave the arm a quick affectionate pat.

"Do you know what I was thinking?" he asked. Hephaestion surprised at the non sequiter shook his head. "I was thinking I wanted to hack off that man's arm for daring to touch you like that." He paused, unsure on how to continue. How to explain the sick, roiling agony he had felt when Hephaestion had been threatened, the cold inhuman rage that had pulsed through him, the almost bestial instinct to tear and to hurt that had overwhelmed him. "I felt anger that seemed to take me over. All I could think about was protecting you."

Hephaestion shifted away from him, and regarded him with steady eyes. "Alexander," he began, then sighed. "Alexander I don't need protecting. All _I_ was thinking about was where the man's weakness was at the time of attack. I didn't even have time to be afraid until afterwards." He stopped. "Neither of us could have taken down all three, but together we did it easily. Even if you did carry the extra burden."

Alexander shook his head. "No we both fought," he objected.

The amusement was evident in Hephaestion's voice. "That's what I just said." He pulled Alexander closer, and kissed his forehead. "Thank you."

_Right. I anticipate maximum another two chapters on this. Perhaps it may all be resolved in the next one with an epilogue. Do stick around! Reviews very welcome._

_Okay I need someone to be proud of me . I had to fight the urge to make Nicanor Hephaestion's father. Which would be kinda impossible if Hephaestion is fifteen, and Nicanor is thirty. But juuust possible. Anyhow I conquered my urge. _

_A.W._


	8. Chapter 8

**Title**: Forgotten Lakes

**Chapter:** 8/?

**Fandom**: Alexander (Historical. _Not _bloody movie.)

**Rating**: PG-13 for slash. No longer implied

**Pairing**: Alexander/ Hephaestion

**Summary**: Alexander newly baffled by the onset of a new emotion, attempts to tame it.

**A/N: **This chapter contains a bit of philosophy, which doesn't really advance the story as a whole. Hope it isn't too boring, and rest assured that there will be action next chapter.

**Warnings: **None for this chapter really. Deadly boredom perhaps

When Alexander entered Hephaestion's room somewhat later, he was surprised to see that his friend was reading a letter, with a thoughtful frown on his face. "Who is it from?" he asked cheerfully, throwing himself on the other boy's narrow bed.

Hephaestion visibly started. "No-one important," he said curtly, hastily folding the letter, and tucking it under some others that he seemed to have been rereading.

Alexander did not notice the warning, and continued on regardless. "Come on," he smiled, "you can tell me." He had not missed the faint flush on Hephaestion's face, or the swift movements with which he had concealed the letter, and his mind leaped to the obvious conclusion. "A love letter?" he joked, unaware that his voice was deepening into an angrier cadence, or perhaps one more inspired by jealousy.

Hephaestion crossly stood. "No," he hissed. "Not a lover, and not anything that concerns you." He was too upset to retain his customary politeness, the manners which dictated that despite his irritation, he remain courteous. Instead, he strode past Alexander swiftly, shoulders hunched. Alexander stood fast.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I didn't mean to upset you." He slung an arm over Hephaestion's shoulders. "Let's go get something to eat." He unhooked his arm, and exited the room first, Hephaestion following more slowly. They made their way to the kitchens where drudges slaved over the preparation of the evening meal. A rounded friendly cook, cut them some bread and cheese, which they proceeded to take out to the court yard. Most of the others were sitting there in the somewhat humid atmosphere chatting amongst themselves. On seeing Alexander and Hephaestion they roused a little to question them on the day's escapade, admiring Alexander's wound, and congratulating them on their kills. Aristotle strode into the clearing. Despite his intake of wine the previous evening, and his indisposition of the morning, he was bright eyed and alert, cheerful almost, and looking at the boys, some of who were still wan faced from the night's dissipation, he smiled a small smirk.

"To work," he cried, ignoring muted sighs of rebellion. With varying degrees of readiness they trooped off behind him. Aristotle often taught into the evenings, feeling every minute of time should be utilised- the more so when so much had been wasted. He was not in charge of their physical training, the very thought made Alexander quell a grin that rose unbidden to his lips, the idea of his rather dandyish tutor teaching them how to fight.

Aristotle on his part noticed how free and easy Hephaestion and Alexander seemed to be with each other again, and a smile twitched at his lips. Hephaestion had obviously pondered his words, and decided it would be worth the effort to know a new Alexander. With his sharp perception, he noticed instantly the change in dynamics from the last time he had had such a good chance of observing in them in their natural habitat. Both were more confident; though in Alexander's case it seemed in more than one way- he no longer appeared to need to flirt with anyone he found interesting, instead his attention remained fairly firmly fixed upon his younger friend. Hephaestion was interesting. He no longer seemed as blissfully unaware of his surroundings as he once did, the dreamlike haze that he existed in was if not shattered, then at least cracked a little, and Aristotle guessed that it had something to do with the attack of the bandits. He still appeared more childlike than his friend, but with a sigh Aristotle accepted that as being a consequence of mere youth.

Sitting with a sigh on a stone bench, he picked up his ferrule, and began the lesson. Today's lesson dealt not with what he had had planned which was simple astronomy- the formations of the stars, and the legends which surrounded them, but with what he had decided was the best thing to actually get these lumpen boys to think. He couldn't help thinking wistfully of Plato, who would have had them whipped into shape faster than they could think, have them chasing their tails with philosophical conundrums, and spitting mad because he'd led them into a verbal trap. With Plato in mind he had decided to teach from the dialogue Theaetetus on knowledge. With the scarcity of knowledge being as it was he rather doubted any of his pupils would have come across this particular piece of work by Plato. So with a sigh, he asked the famous first question to a sea of indifferent faces. "What is knowledge?"

There was silence, broken only by a stifled cough. Then one hand crept slowly upwards, and mercy of mercy's, gave the correct follow up answer. "There are many parts of knowledge- geometry, philosophy and anything that requires mental endeavour."

Aristotle sighed. "No. Those things comprise parts of knowledge," then he began to paraphrase Plato on the subject of clay. "It is as though on being asked what clay is, instead of replying clay is moist earth, you had replied 'There is one clay of image-makers, another of potters, another of oven-makers.' Knowledge must be an explanation." He gazed with little hope at the blank faces in front of him. "Can anyone tell me what he is trying to say?"

Hephaestion spoke confidently. "I think he is trying to point out that generalization must be possible with knowledge, that you should be able to find equivalant points in every type of knowledge, to get an idea of the true nature of knowledge." He looked anxiously at Aristotle, who gave a tight smile.

"Very good Hephaestion." Gazing at the ground, in a split second decision he decided it was hopeless to teach a treatise on the nature of knowledge to sixteen year olds, and instead embarked on what he himself did best. Sweeping rhetoric. "Who can tell me what kind of knowledge is the most important?"

Muttered answers began to drift in. 'Philosophy' 'Arithmetic' 'Geometry' 'Poetry.' Then Harpalus said clearly. "Self knowledge."

Aristotle raised an eyebrow surprised at such an answer. "Why do you say that?" he enquired drily.

Harpalus flushed at realising all attention was on him. "If a man has self knowledge..." he begun, fumbling his way towards an answer, "then he is aware of what he can and can't do, and so he will never do anything that will make him look foolish. He can guard against the flaws in his nature. Besides how can you expect to know anything, if you can't even understand yourself?"

There was a smirk on Aristotle's face, and he plunged straight into another gambit. "Very well Harpalus. We shall assume that self knowledge does what you claim for it. Do you believe in Asclepius?"

Caught off balance by the sudden question, Harpalus stuttered. "I-I-I don't know."

Pleased by the answer, Aristotle continued his baiting. "Either you do or you don't. Do you believe that the God and his two maidens Hygenia and Panacea could cure you of an ailment? Or do you believe that putting yourself at the mercy of a sawbones is more likely to result in a cure?"

Miserably Harpalus stumbled out his answer. "I do believe in the God," he said wretchedly, "but I don't see how he could cure an illness."

Aristotle pressed on mercilessly. "Do tell me why not."

The answer was soft, almost wretched. "Because my mother took me to his temple when I was born, and nothing occured." There was complete silence for a moment, and everyone averted their eyes away from Harpalus, lest they make his embarassment even more palpable by catching his eye. Even Aristotle was a little shaken, though he plunged right back in.

"Very well. But can you tell me how the body works? How disease is cured?"

Nearchus stepped in for Harpalus. "Yes. There are four Humours in the body. Bile, phlegm, blood and spirit. When they get out of balance then illness results..."

Aristotle patiently heard him out as far as that, then interrupted. "Nonsense. You do not have an idea of what you are saying. You mouth words- Four Humours, bile, balance, words you have heard doctors use, but you cannot tell me what governs these humours, how they operate or why. If you cannot understand your own body, then how much less must you understand your mind? The mind is a complex and varied thing. We have all seen madmen, those so caught up in private worlds of understanding, that they claim the Gods speak to them directly, or those healthy in body yet utterly weak in mind. So self knowledge is impossible. Every man with even a grain of self knowledge, makes excuses for his own foibles, reasons out the reasons that he does something and the benefit accruing to themselves from it. So even a glutton who knows his weakness is food, will go on eating, because the one impulse to eat, is larger than the self knowledge which tells him that he is being foolish and a glutton." He banged his cane on the floor, beginning to get warmed up to his subject.

As Aristotle continued almost ranting, Alexander nudged Hephaestion, his eyes plainly advertising his boredom. Usually Aristotle was an excellent teacher, and gave them a thorough grounding on most branches of education required, but sometimes as on this occasion he became caughtup in such a subject, and often he enjoyed teaching on morals and ethics, having already told them most of his embryo work on ethics, and indeed formulated some of the ideas in the course of his discussion with the class. His greatest ambition was the chance to examine a corpse at his leisure, but alas such opportunity was denied to him, by law and by the citizens. What seemed like hours later, he gave them the opportunity for a break- enough time to drink something, before arraying themselves before him again.

Alexander seized the chance to talk to Hephaestion. "I have rarely been so bored in all my life," he said with a good humoured smile. "I can take the history, the mathematics, even the philosophy, but when Aristotle gets something in his head..." He paused.

Hephaestion looked at him reasonably. "Tell him your arm is hurting you, and you think you need to see the physician," he suggested.

Eyes brightening Alexander grinned. "Excellent idea Hephaestion. But what about you? You weren't wounded. My father is leaving soon, I had hoped to see him off, and yours of course will be going with him." Pondering a moment, he headed over to Aristotle and held a short whispered conference, including pressing a hand rather dramatically to his wound, which caused an actual wince. Minutes later, Alexander was back triumphant. "We can both go," he declared. Hephaestion looked suitably pleased, and followed by the more than envious looks of their unluckier comrades, they vanished round the corner.

As it happened Hephaestion had not seen his father since that morning, when he had been almost dragged off, leaving Alexander and his cousin Nicanor to talk. They had spoken of little, but Hephaestion winced on recalling the awkward dialogue.

// Amytor had sat himself down on the stone bench, and Hephaestion after a short hesitation sat down as well. His father stretched with a bit of a sigh. "Hephaestion have you thought more of our last conversation?" he asked, staring into the distance where Nicanor appeared to be having animated converse with Alexander.

Hephaestion bit his lip. "I have father," was his dutiful reply. "I have attempted to take your words as they were meant, but I find it difficult as I always have to understand their full import. I am as confused as always, and with more reason I believe." He sighed himself. "Is life always so confusing?" he asked his father wryly.

"Unfortunately yes," was his father's reply, and at that moment Nicanor and Alexander had approached. //

Hephaestion pulled himself out of his thoughts, and looked briefly at Alexander. The other boy was obviously thinking himself, and after a moment Hephaestion tore his eyes away, flushing a little, his heart giving a sudden strange leap in his chest that he was at loss to understand. The look Alexander gave him did not help the matter at all, bemused and affectionate, with something strange behind his eyes, something deeper than Hephaestion felt at all capable of understanding. Something that made him feel rather insignificant all of a sudden, childish again as he had not felt in some time. Alexander held his eyes for a moment longer, and Hephaestion found himself holding his breath, as though he was on the brink of something, on the edge of understanding some elusive fact which had escaped from him just moments before. It was as though every thing else had faded away. Yet it was Alexander who broke their glance first, turning with a strange little half smile, at once excited and repressed.

Alexander for his part was equally bewildered. He had looked up from contemplation of the evening before, to find Hephaestion's frank gaze fastened on his face, and was surprised to see a flush on his cheeks. Catching his friend's eyes, he had been heartened by the emotions he saw within. What was usually veiled and inscrutable, was at once confused, and lit with a spark that Alexander in his youthful inexperience could put no name to, except that it made him catch his own breath, and indulge in a hope long beaten back. He broke the gaze first, willling to take what he could get, and not jeopardize the situation by pressing too hard, too fast.

Later after they had bidden goodbye to their respective fathers, and seen them off, another quarrel broke out between them, virulent as their arguments tended to be, and caused by the master of discontent Cassander, who feeling both bored, and restless, had begun an argument with the other boys on whose families had the longest history in Macedonia and the most honour pertaining- not in rank, but in association. Hephaestion had declined to participate, knowing that his Athenian parentage automatically excluded him from the conversation, despite the rank his father held, and the long service he had given Macedonia. The other boys had mostly respected his position and after a little time, the conversation had tailed off into minutaie and the tracing of mutual links and connections

It had come close to a fight when Cassander had accused Hephaestion's family of sympathizing with Demosthenes, citing as cause the fact that he knew they had correspondence with the famous orator. Hephaestion had not lost his self control but he had said things that he regretted. The other boys uneasy at such a scene, had made their excuses, claiming it was latening and left leaving Alexander glaring at his younger friend. "You talk to Demosthenes?"

This had started off a long argument between them, culminating in an acrimonius silence, until it was broken by Hephaestion's words, and an explanation that made a lot of things clearer to Alexander.

Hephaestion stared at his hands. "Lysander," he said softly.

Alexander ceased his pacing. "What about Lysander?" he asked almost harshly, disliking the reverence that Hephaestion bestowed upon that name.

Hephaestion looked up with eyes that were almost fever bright. "Have you never stopped to wonder why Demosthenes hates Macedonia so much?" he asked quietly. "Why he dislikes King Philip so much, and you as well?" He stared at his hands for a long moment. "Demosthenes was my brother's lover," he said finally, and the words fell with a ringing clarity into the atmosphere. "Lysander died because my father believed, as he still believes that Macedonia is the future, and Demosthenes could never forgive him for it." He gave a short humourless laugh. "I am given to believe," he said drily, "that they were a most incongrous couple. My beautiful, almost perfect brother, so madly in love with a plain man most noted for his rhetoric." In silence he remembered the weeks after Lysander's death. He wasn't sure he could ever forget them. They were branded into the memory of the six year old he had been. His brother's lover haunting the house at all hours, the terrible fights between Amytor and Demosthenes, that resulted in their leaving of Athens, and coming to Macedon.

"I don't understand," Alexander said softly. "You said Lysander died of a fever. How can that be Macedonia's fault?"

"It can be, when the fever is caused by a Macedonian arrow to the stomach," Hephaestion said harshly, his own long withheld bitterness coming to the fore. "Sometimes I can even understand how Demosthenes felt. I was barely there for the days before Lysander's death, but I remember my brother rotting away, until only Demosthenes could bear to stay and hold his hand, and when they held me up to kiss his face before they took him away." There was no sound for a moment. "And my father still believed that Macedonia was the way forward, that Philip was the bringer of a new era, a new age. He took to drinking much after Lysander's death as I have said already, and people were incredulous that he could still defend and believe in a country which had stolen his most valuable possession. So when Philip offered him a position as general, and a new life for himself and his family here, my father lost no time to the disapprobation of his colleagues of accepting, and uprooting us." he finished, and looked at Alexander. "Does that satisfy you?" he said sarcastically.

There was no answer from Alexander.

_Right as always I clear up a few points at the end. This chapter was a rather dry one I fear with its philosophy, quarrels and Demosthenes. I am in the process of writing chapter 5 for Far Away From Here, which in direct contrast to this chapter is filled with emotion, travails and spills. Hopefully next chapter will be more readable._

_Nietzsche has never been proved to have gone insane from being in the tertiary stages of syphilis, this is mere conjecture._

_Second the Demosthenes connection is of course entirely made up, and those of you who had read his Philipics will know I've written a load of nonsense about his reasons for hating Macedonia, but please forgive me for that._

_Thanks for all the reviews, and they are as always welcome_

_A.W._


	9. Chapter 9

**Title**: Forgotten Lakes

**Chapter:** 9/?

**Fandom**: Alexander (Historical. _Not _bloody movie.)

**Rating**: PG-13 for slash. No longer implied

**Pairing**: Alexander/ Hephaestion

**Summary**: Alexander newly baffled by the onset of a new emotion, attempts to tame it.

**A/N: ** It has been far too long since I have updated this. Apologies for this chapter- it is a trial one to get me back into the swing and style of Alexander fanfiction and as such not that much happens

**Warnings: **None for this chapter really.

**Thanks for reviews to:** sevy, ukio, InkandPaper, Jey, Moon71, Norrsken, Rashalla Entalio, SongNatasha, anberzen, Yolass, Queendel, Manidefronsac

**Dedication**: All those who favved me. Special thanks to **Moon71** whose last beautiful story, gave me the idea to help end Forgotten Lakes

After their virulent argument the day before hand, things were back to the same uneasy impasse between Alexander and Hephaestion, though this was not openly acknowledged. The tension was different now, less caused by their respective age difference, and more to do with the fact that Hephaestion was gradually waking up to see what was happening around him. No longer was he the same sleepy eyed boy, who played, laughed and loved as a child. He was still fundamentally unaware of the changes within both himself and Alexander, but he was now aware that the changes were there, and they were not things that could be helped.

Aristotle as keen eyed as ever, had virtually given up on the situation. It seemed that Hephaestion was blind and Alexander if not a coward then at least a fool. Hephaestion was _not _going to remain innocent forever, and there were few others better equipped to care for him than Alexander, in this difficult time. He looked thoughtfully at the ground. Alexander had better to hurry. There were people who were less reticent in displaying their affections, and one of those at least was not going to take no for an answer. His eyes drifted over to where a handsome young man on guard duty was ostensibly looking at the stables, but in fact spent most of his time gazing soulfully in Hephaestion's direction.

Cleitus had not forgotten the wood's incident, and had since come to the conclusion that Hephaestion had merely been shocked by such an approach, and would respond far more positively to a more subtle courtship. Thus he did not mention the aborted kiss, and was as friendly and genial as he could be; often talking to the younger lad about things he knew interested him, or soliciting his help in identifying a herb, or quotation. Hephaestion responded well to the friendship, and soon grew to dismiss the kiss as something that had happened by accident- the other man had obviously been carried away. Yet Cleitus's presence was a living reminder of the first introduction of sensuality into his life, and as such Hephaestion's subconscious was busier than he realised.

Not only his mind was busy. His body, so long under his control seemed to be alien again. Like Alexander he had matured physically earlier, and now his mind was catching up- however unwillingly. His conversation with his father had confused him naturally. All the views and beliefs he had held for years- based upon a father who in his eyes was God, had been turned upside down. Yet his natural stubbornness rebelled against such a change in the order of things. His father _must _be wrong. There was no point in idle flirtation and in appointing such importance to sex, a subject that so far was linked unpleasantly in his mind with Cleitus, Philip and the court prostitutes that were even here at Mieza. It did not strike him that this was the height of arrogance, to apportion to himself the right of deciding what was important and what was not. But Hephaestion was still untempered by life's fire, and with the casual arrogance of youth, had decided to fight not only preconceived opinions, but even his own urges.

Alexander had been kicking himself since their last argument, and lambasting himself for a fool. He had finally got on Hephaestion's good side again, and had jeopardized that, over such a small thing as jealousy. What kind of fool was he in the name of Zeus? King of the fools it would appear. True, it meant that he now knew more about Hephaestion than he ever had done before, but at the cost of almost losing his precarious footing with the younger boy. He tried to castigate himself for getting into such a state over a boy his own age, whom even if he accepted Alexander's overtures, could only be his lover for such a short amount of time, until they were both fully grown and warriors in their own right. But the heart ignores such reasoning from the head, and Alexander had to live with a body that was all too keen to show Hephaestion _exactly _how he felt.

His eyes were thoughtful when he remembered what Hephaestion had told him of his family history. Never had he dreamed that such a tangled web of feelings and actions lay behind the seemingly united Athenian family's front. He had known both of Hephaestion's parents, but it wasn't until a nominally short time ago that he had even known that Hephaestion had had a brother, let alone one who had been _Demosthenes _of all people's lover, who had subsequently been slain by a Macedonian arrow. And yet it explained so much. He had never thought of asking Philip why Demosthenes was so bitter towards Macedonia, had just accepted it as 'one of those things' that were simply freak manifestations of nature, rather than as a grievance with it's roots in something personal. He did wonder however why Philip had never told him about Hephaestion's family history. Alexander strove to be fair within his mind- maybe Philip had simply thought Hephaestion would have told him, but he couldn't help feeling doubtful. It seemed as though his father was always one step ahead of him. As it happened there were far worse things to be wondering about, considering the conversation that Philip was having with one of his closest generals.

Amyntor was reclining thoughtfully as he accepted a chilled white wine from the docile servant girl, smiling at her appreciatively. "You are determined on this course of action?" he asked the man opposite him, who was reclining in a similar manner. "And the other boys?"

"Those older and his own age will have to disperse back to their own duties, and I scarcely think that Aristotle will have much interest in teaching the young ones, with the focus of the class removed." Philip shrugged careless shoulders. "It is more than time that Alexander began to feel the weight of some responsibility on his shoulders if he is ever going to succeed to the throne." He did not mention his personal doubts that were just beginning to emerge. "He still acts like a child. This foolish fascination with your son," he paused for a moment, "not that I do not believe Hephaestion would be good for him in some ways, but still the _intensity _that Alexander insists on lavishing on his emotions is not good for someone who must learn to control himself in some matters, to see the bigger picture."

The other man nodded shrewdly, understanding there was no offence meant, though he disagreed with the lightness that Philip treated his son's emotions- after all it was one area at least in which Philip and Alexander were very similar, Alexander having more control than Philip even. "Very well," he acquiesced. "I shall write to Hephaestion immediately and summon him back, if that is well with you. I should prefer him to return a little earlier. And perhaps you will have less trouble tearing Alexander from his studies if he knows that his friend is waiting for him in Pella." He did not mention to the King his other reason for wanting Hephaestion back. Helene his wife was weakening faster by the day, and it was his secret hope that his son and his wife be able to speak at least once more before her, he mentally flinched from the word he had been avoiding. He did not mention it, for he was sure that Philip knew already, as the King had pressed his hand in silent sympathy each time he had made excuses for his wife.

Duly, later that evening, a letter was dispatched in Amyntor's careful pen and inkmanship, and arrived in course to Hephaestion. He read it through in silence- it was little more than a short note.

_My dear son,_

_Greetings to you and to your friends. You may wonder at the abruptness of this summons, and I apologise for this hastiness. I write to summon you back to Pella. I am not at liberty to explain my full reasons, but dutiful as you are, I am sure you forgive me for this lapse. I am sorry that I cannot allow you more time, but the escort which brought this letter must take you back on the day that they return. I doubt that you will return to Mieza, and unless Aristotle comes to Pella, then this will be the last time you see him, so bid him farewell with due affection, and convey my warmest greetings and regards to him. Your schoolmates you need not lavish such cares upon, as I can tell you in confidence that you shall be reunited with most of them soon. Your mother sends her love to both you and Alexander._

_Your loving father._

Hephaestion stared at the note in his hands, and experienced a sudden sick feeling of dismay. He was being summoned back to Pella? He read the note through again, it didn't seem as though he was in disgrace, and the cryptic line at the end seemed to offer reassurance that he wasn't being banished or anything. He folded it, and tucked it into his pocket, resolved to seek out Aristotle immediately. He was to leave tomorrow morning that much was clear.

Standing before the sage, he remembered his father's admonition as to the secrecy element. He chose the next most likely reason for such a sudden withdrawal from the class, something he had suspected since Amyntor's last visit. "I don't know the reason sir," he said in perfect truth, "but I believe that my mother is ailing."

Aristotle peered at him with sharp eyes, and read his bland face. "Come off it boy," he said wearily. "We both know the real reason. You are only the first to go, Philip must have finally decided that Alexander is ready to take on some of the work of ruling a kingdom, while he embarks on another foolhardy campaign of his own." He smiled at the shocked looking boy in front of him." Never mind," he said more kindly. "I shall not be coming to Pella unless there is a farewell that I must attend, so I believe this is farewell."

"Sir," Hephaestion said, then hesitated, and plunged. "It has been an honour being taught by you." He made a curiously formal bow. "There is little I can do, but thank you for all you have done for me."

Sighing, the older man came closer. "I've enjoyed teaching you Hephaestion," he said honestly. He tilted up the younger boy's face. "You are a strange one," he sighed. "There is little I can tell you or advice you in, for you will forge your own way in the world. So I tell you what I would tell no-one else who lives as you do. Trust in yourself. You have rare gifts, and perhaps the rarest one is clarity of mind. It may be your curse or your salvation, but though it may hinder your rise to better things I tell you never to lose sight of what is right and true- and the courage and conviction to voice your opinion." As though in benediction, he kissed Hephaestion on the forehead. "Now go and pack." He turned away, and Hephaestion left quietly to seek out those of his friends he could find.

He told them merely that he was being summoned back home because his mother was ill, which they accepted instinctively when faced with Hephaestion's insistence. Alexander waited until they had dispersed, then caught Hephaestion by the sleeve. "You're _going_?" he asked with dismay evident in his voice. "But why?"

Hephaestion repeated his excuse, wanting to give into comforting Alexander by telling him they would see each other soon, but mindful of his father's words. So he had to leave his friend with a handful of unsatisfactory comforts, and empty promises. It hurt far more than he had thought, even this short separation, though he had a growing intimation in his mind as to why that should be so- why parting from Nicanor., Hector, Nearchus and even Cleitus did not give him the same queer half painful pang, as saying goodbye to Alexander, even with the assurance they would meet again soon. They embraced, Hephaestion with a queer aching lump in his throat, Alexander as subdued as Hephaestion had ever seen him, and the next morning while the sky was still misty grey with dew, and the air was chill Hephaestion awoke to travel back to Pella. He was a little hurt that Alexander was not there to wave him off, but as he finished tending to his horse, he turned to signal his readiness and found Alexander there, eyes bright despite the chill, and the warmth of his hug against the cold. "Be well," Alexander mumbled into his neck, and Hephaestion was vaguely aware of goose bumps rising on his skin. Alexander stood back and caught his gaze. Hephaestion's eyes widened in sudden almost comprehension and he shifted closer unconsciously, Alexander's hand rising to carefully touch his cheek.

The moment was broken by the shout of the guardsman, and slowly they moved away, Hephaestion mounting easily, and leaning down to clasp Alexander's hand one last time. "I'll write," he whispered, and then they were gone. Alexander stood there in the early morning greyness of the yard, and stared at the departing riders, though inside he was flushed and warm, remembering every little detail of the other boy's expression and the almost revelation of his feelings. Though Hephaestion had said nothing, and was now away, Alexander was suddenly inexplicably hopeful. He had a chance.

Hephaestion's thoughts lingered for a long time upon Alexander, but the closer they came after long travel to Pella the more his thoughts drifted to what awaited him. There was a sick feeling of dread in his stomach as he realised what his glib excuse to the other students could in truth mean if it was indeed true. As though automatically, he remembered Amyntor's expression when he had asked after his mother's health last, the pain that had so briefly flickered over his father's face. He inhaled a deep sigh. Now he thought about it, his mother's letters had been so infrequent lately, and their handwriting shaky- this from a woman who was lauded on account of her learning, and he mentally cursed himself. How could he not have thought?

As soon as he arrived in Pella, he hurried along to where his parents lived, needing no guide. The house was utterly quiet, and dread pounded in his throat, as he let himself quietly in. One of the servants was stoking the fire in the kitchen, an old family servant, whose face lit up when she saw him. "Master Hephaestion," she exclaimed, and stood. "You'll be wanting to see your mother?" she observed, and with the ease and familiarity of long experience she pointed to the garden. "My mistress spends this hour in the garden." Hephaestion smiled his thanks, and gratefully squeezed her. He paced himself deliberately, though he could not avert the feeling of impending doom. Then finally he saw his mother. His first sigh of relief was tempered with shock at how she looked.

She had changed even since the last time he saw her. Always thin, she was now positively emaciated, and her face was lined with furrows of pain. Dressed in white, she was a slender and ethereal figure on the bench, her unearthly face raised to the sky above, her eyes closed as though she was waiting for something. Hephaestion walked closer, not liking to interrupt, and saw that one of her hands at least was not naturally white. It was swathed in bandages, and through a little gap he could see the vivid red of burnt flesh. He could not restrain his gasp, and at the sound his mother's eyes opened. The eyes that had once entranced a general so much, that he had proposed marriage after the second meeting, were now dull and glazed as though with pain too much to bear. Her voice was the same, though somewhat reedier and thinner. "Hephaestion," he she breathed rather than spoke. "Darling." She extended the uninjured hand to him, and cautiously he took it, sitting next to her on the bench. "Have you enjoyed Mieza?"

"Yes," he said quietly, modulating his own tones to hers.

She smiled painfully. "Demosthenes is such a well spoken man isn't he? But darling are you sure he is good for you? After those rumours about the other boy, I do worry for you." Hephaestion sat still in shock, and then he gradually realised that she thought he was Lysander, that her mind was wandering. She continued on, her voice cracking slightly. "And what of Alexander? How is he the dear boy?"

Close to tears Hephaestion mumbled his answer. "He's well," he replied, and received a squeeze of the hand.

"You always were so beautiful together," she said musingly. "Two heads bent over the same toy."

Hephaestion looked up, and saw his father standing there, his eyes full of pity, and understanding, and shook his head bewildered, throat clogged by tears. How could this be happening?

_Because I like to torture you Hephaestion would be the answer if I liked that sort of thing. Well people, the ending of Forgotten Lakes may be coming up soon. I had no idea how to finish it, then reading Moon71's last story suddenly dissolved my writer's block in that area, so thanks! _

_However this is by no means the end, so stick around for the next couple of chapters._

_A.W._


	10. Chapter 10

**Title**: Forgotten Lakes

**Chapter:** 10/10

**Fandom**: Alexander (Historical. _Not _bloody movie.)

**Rating**: PG-13 for slash. No longer implied

**Pairing**: Alexander/ Hephaestion

**Summary**: Alexander newly baffled by the onset of a new emotion, attempts to tame it.

**A/N: ** The final chapter! Some would say it's been too long in coming, but here it is. I'm sorry if nobody likes it, and indeed it is very different from what I had planned originally, including the fact that the rating has not changed. It's shorter than the others- I felt this story was beginning to drag, that I was spinning it out for too long, and it was becoming very tired and stale. So I present the End.

**Warnings: **None for this chapter really.

**Thanks for reviews to:** Moon71, bob and - I appreciate it very much

Hephaestion warmed his hands on a cup of steaming wine. "When?" he said numbly.

His father sighed. "In the last few months. I noticed at first she would be more absent minded, would forget a needle she had just set down, or sit in reverie for half an hour and not notice a thing, but I barely heeded it. Then she began complaining of headaches, but not one physician could cure them. it was then I began to worry. But still I made excuses for her;- she was tired, she was ill, over-strained. Until one morning she woke and did not know my face. She screamed at the strange man beside her, and it was hours before recollection returned." He had the compassion not to give Hephaestion the details; of the slow fumbling way his mother talked, and worst of all her entirely lucid periods, in which she was aware that her mind was slipping from her grasp, and there was such dread and fear in her face that even her beloved husband could not comfort her.

Unconsciously Hephaestion shook his head. "Is there nothing anyone can do?" he asked hopelessly, already knowing the answer within his own soul.

"Nothing," was the reply. Amyntor was surprised at how calm and resolute his voice was. "All we can do is make her at peace in these final days, love and respect her as we have always done. Look after her in the way she has always looked after us."

Hephaestion nodded, and stared at the ground. "How did she burn her hand?"

"The maid was lax. Your mother attempted to lift a kettle from a burning fire. She held it so tightly it burnt her." More than anything he could see how that little anecdote had affected Hephaestion. Calmly he pre-empted the next question of his son. "The physicians say they have seen other cases like this. When it is at this stage, the patient has weeks to live, sometimes days." He hesitated, then in a rare enough display of emotion he clasped his son's shoulder. "I am glad you have returned." He nodded and then left the room, his once upright frame now bent a little from care.

Hephaestion stared at his hands, almost unable to understand what he had been told. There was a soft step at the door. His mother stood there; as frail and ethereal as he had first seen her. The impression did not dissipiate as she walked further into the room, but he realised with a shock of relief that she was lucid- her eyes were clouded but that was better than the frank unknowing gaze she had first presented to him. Instantly he stood, and took her hand, aware how frail she truly was; like a bird in both appearance and movement, and guided her to a seat. She sat there with her hands folded in her lap. "Hephaestion my dear," she finally said, and the words were a shock in the quiet silence of the room. He refused to look at her. "Don't be sad," she whispered finally, her words not a platitude but a command.

Hephaestion drew in a breath. "Why not?" It was on the tip of his tongue to say what he really thought. Was he supposed to be joyous watching his beloved mother's mind crumble, and watch her bear awful pain?

She drew in a deep sigh. "My boy, you have the whole of life ahead of you. You have your beloved one by your side, your youth and strength and beauty. Oh heart when you are my age; you will look back and understand how precious even these moments are." She fumbled for his hand. "You're my warrior son," she said and her words were affectionate. "Did I tell you that you were even as a child? That while Lysander drew and wrote from when he was a small boy, you would spend hours with your wooden sword or the kitchen knives. You could almost ride before you could walk." Her eyes drooped slightly. "I'm very tired," she said quietly.

Shaking his head Hephaestion looked at her, but already her eyes looked vacant and empty, her face vacuous- even if it was more peaceful. The servant-girl came quietly in, and took her mistress's arm, sparing a respectful nod for Hephaestion. His mother turned gladly to this obviously familiar presence and sufficed herself to be led from the room. Hephaestion stared bleakly after her. A knock came at the door, and one of the small pages of the palace stood there trembling. He thrust a note at Hephaestion, then stood there obviously waiting for a reply. Numbly Hephaestion opened it. Inside there was a note from Queen Olympias bidding him to come to the palace at his leisure. Tired and heartsick as he was Hephaestion knew that 'at his leisure' meant 'on the double.' He told the page that he would come as soon as possible, and splashing cold water on his face, he stared bleakly at the beaten metal that served for reflection. He felt older now than he had ever felt before.

Olympias was exactly as he had seen her last- her hair not one whit less lustrous, and her face not even a little more lined. The queen has always overawed him, and his flowers to her had been less from love or friendship than an unconscious tribute to power, and because his mother had taught him that to give was honoured in the gods' eyes. She had never been less than gracious to him, and he had often felt even as a child speculative eyes weighing him up. Now that he was older he understood why. Queen Olympias was like a wolf; as sleek and groomed as a woman and yet with savagery in her heart, like a lioness devoted to her only cub. He knew he must have been found worthy in her eyes, or neither him nor his family would have found it expedient that Hephaestion be a compatriot of Alexanders.

Now as he looked at her he could see objectively traces of Alexander. Alexander had always resembled his father in stature if not in build, and all praised his resemblance to Philip. As Hephaestion gazed at the queen though, he realised for the first time that Alexander resembled her, and in more than just looks. Their eyes were the same; thick lashed and heavy and yet penetrating, and there was more than a passing similarity in the set of their jaws, and the strength of the nose. It was perhaps this more than anything that made him look at her without fear. She gestured for him to sit. "Hephaestion," she said slowly, with the slightest accent on the last syllable, and smiled at him disconcertingly.

He sat after bowing respectfully. "Most honoured Queen," he greeted her, and she received this with the smallest twitch of her lips in amusement.

"How is my son?" she enquired. "His letters are singularly unilluminating. It would seem that the Greek Aristotle however skilled he may be in philosophy, is inadequete to the task of teaching young men the art of writing a good letter."

Hephaestion considered. "Alexander is very well. He speaks often of you and fondly, and Aristotle thinks his studies are going very well."

Olympias laughed, a delighted chortle; deep and rich and throaty. "Hephaestion you should be a diplomat," she crowed, and she moved closer. There was a scent about her at once woody and rich, and Hephaestion swallowed nervously. "Now be honest with me." She had the same trick as Alexander of capturing a person's eyes, and commanding their attention and obedience, and Hephaestion shifted slightly in unease. "Is he a worthy friend?"

There was a moment of utter silence as Hephaestion tried in vain to look away, bewildered by the question that had been asked of him. "I don't understand," he said in bemusement.

Olympias smiled, not looking away. "I've watched you Hephaestion. Alexander writes of nothing else in his letters than about you. About what you do, what you think, what you say. The friendship he holds for you, what esteem he holds you in. What I want to know is do you feel the same to him."

Hephaestion answered without pause. "Of course I do. More than anyone."

"Then I can trust you," Olympias replied smoothly. "Hephaestion you must be aware that Alexander has not expressed an inclination to wed. As his friend it is your sacred duty to speak to him on this matter. I am not a tyrant. I do not expect him to wed without preference or indeed to wed now. He is young; there are years to come. But I am merely his mother. How can I tell my son this? But you, you are his closest friend, the friend of his heart."

"I.." Hephaestion began then stopped. Aristotle's voice echoed quietly in his head. _Though it may hinder your rise to better things I tell you never to lose sight of what is right and true- and the courage and conviction to voice your opinion. _He continued more firmly. "I can't." He met the Queen's eyes squarely. "That's not my place to tell Alexander that. It's because I'm his friend that I can't." He looked down and flinched, expecting the full force of the Queen's legendary anger. What came was almost worse.

Olympias sighed prettily, and looked at him. "Would you deny Alexander the chance of finding someone by his side. My son is brilliant, but we lesser mortals know these things. Alexander if left to his own devices will find no-one at all, will not even search. All I ask is that you help him see such a possibility. There can be no reason for you not wanting to do this." She watched the young man's face with impartiality. He was very good, she had to concede that more through natural talent than cultivation- his blank features almost defeated even her skill in reading faces. But Olympias was not a young maid, and she was a mistress of  
cunning. Even if Alexander refused a good woman to espouse and have progeny with, Olympias was not going to forfeit her privilige of chosing his beloved nominally at least. Alexander was calfstruck with Hephaestion, that much was more than obvious, and in her subtle way she understand that Hephaestion was the only one whom Alexander would allow to sway him. Even if they loved each other, Hephaestion would remember her words in later years, and ensure that Alexander did his duty. She trusted in this with all her instinct, and with her terrible capacity for patience- the understanding that it often takes years for plans to materialise, she was willing to wait.

Sure enough Hephaestion answered. "No... no of course not. I do understand." She smiled a secret smile.

"We understand each other Hephaestion. We both want the best for my son. And we both fight to ensure he gets it." She stretched langorously. "I have heard about your mother," she remarked carefully.

Hephaestion's back stiffened subtly, and tension entered his bones. "Mother is fine."

Olympias waved her hand impatiently. "Nonsense. I have seen her. My grandfather died of exactly the same complaint." She looked at Hephaestion not unkindly. "I understand, and my love and thoughts go to her."

If nothing else, this strange and unwonted kindness from the Queen brought Hephaestion closer to tears than anything else before hand. "Thank you," he whispered through the lump in his throat. Sensing this was the moment to leave, he stood. "I shall convey both to my mother, and I am sure they will comfort her in this time." The words were hesitant, and he excused himself with a haste that would have seemed rude to any impartial observer of the scene.

Outside he breathed in deeply, and composed his face back into it's usual carelessness. He felt older, so much older as if everything had combined all at once to force him to grow up and accept what was happening to him. Suddenly he wished Alexander was there with his strength and his laughter to brighten what seemed like a bleak horizon. Leaning against the wall he sighed.

A voice eagerly called him, and amazed he turned around. Alexander was standing there, his face alight. "Hephaestion!" he called, and hurried towards the younger boy, sweeping him up in a bone crushing hug. "I thought I might find you here."

Hephaestion surrounded by Alexander's warmth had only one thought. _ Alexander had come when he had called. _The thought filled him with an intense warmth of the spirit. Unconsciously Alexander had come on him in distress. He allowed himself to be comforted momentarily by the embrace, then pulled away. "Why.. why are you here?" he asked.

"Maybe only a few hours after you left, I was told I was to return to Pella as well. I followed and here I am. How are you?" he asked, his face scanning the other boys quickly.

"Well," stuttered Hephaestion.

Alexander was about to speak when a page boy came up to them. "Your father Lord Amyntor asks you to return home immediately," he panted his words out. Hephaestion spared him a moment's look, and then began running, as fast as he could pace himself, his mind filled with one thought. _Mother. _Alexander exchanged a bewildered look with the messenger boy, and then began to walk in the same direction.

Hephaestion slowed as he entered his mother's room. Amyntor was sitting there, clutching her hand in a death-grip his face pale as chalk, and Hephaestion felt his strength fail. "Is she?" he asked unable to finish.

Amyntor shook his head. "She took a turn for the worse about half an hour ago, and the physician believes she is dying."

With leaden steps Hephaestion walked forward. He stared at the quiet countenance before him- so pale and quiet that it seemed her soul had already fled, and grasped at her other hand. Her eyelids flickered somewhat, but did not open. He didn't know how long they sat there, merely holding her hand, but at some point he was aware of a warm hand on his shoulder and a comforting presence behind him. Suddenly there was a gentle pressure on his hand, and he realised Helene was trying to say something. But the words were mangled. Amyntor in agony hushed her. "I know," he whispered, and fixing her eyes on his face she smiled once. Hephaestion felt her hand go limp.

Dazedly he stood, and walked towards the door. Outside he slid to the ground, unable to express his grief. Alexander sat next to him, and Hephaestion took some comfort in his presence. After a while he mustered the strength to re-enter the room, and look at the body once more. Amyntor had left to summon the maid, and Hephaestion looked at Alexander. In the years to come he was able to pinpoint the moment he grew up, to that moment in the sick chamber when he looked at his friend and saw written so clearly the love, and the agony for Hephaestion's grief in Alexander's eyes. He didn't need to say anything, as Alexander took a trembling step towards him, everything was contained within his face, and sighing he allowed Alexander to touch their lips together, and take his hands. It was nothing more than the lightest touch, nothing more was appropriate, but it sealed them closer together than anything more passionate could have done.

As they broke apart, Alexander was still gripping his hands, and the whole world was in his eyes. "Hephaestion," he whispered.

The Beginning.

So it's finally reached the end. Everyone clap your hands! I do plan to write more in the Alexander fandom, but this is the end of an era in their lives- their schooldays, and indeed childhood is gone now, along with Forgotten Lakes. Thanks for everyone who reviewed Forgotten Lakes. I appreciate it very much particularly Moon71 who has been a terrific help all the way along. I hope you enjoyed it, and will read my other Alexander works when they come out.


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